


The Comfort of Second Chances

by vivilove



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: 1930s, 1940s, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - World War II, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Cousins, F/M, Falling In Love, Feels, Guilt, Healing, Jonsa Historical Event, Mentions of Violence, Mutual Pining, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-War, Sexual Content, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-22
Updated: 2018-07-03
Packaged: 2019-05-26 12:56:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 24,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15001358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vivilove/pseuds/vivilove
Summary: That night was the start, or rather the rebirth, of everything he’d been in denial about since he’d left Winterfell.  Any notions he’d harbored of his feelings for Sansa being merely familial had died on the vine when she’d taken his hand and whispered in his ear to keep him from fighting.  Those longings he’d been ashamed of as a younger man had not gone away with the war at all.  They tripled the moment he held her in his arms again.Two young cousins start developing romantic feelings for one another only to be separated by the outbreak of World War II.  Through years of peril and loss, they grow into adulthood but never forget one another.  When the war ends, they find themselves reunited and hope to find a second chance at happiness.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mynameisnoneya](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mynameisnoneya/gifts), [Amymel86](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amymel86/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Second Honeymoon](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14343717) by [vivilove](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vivilove/pseuds/vivilove). 



> Gifted to Lisa for a) being the best friend any girl could ask for over the last 30 years b) because I wrote the story this one is inspired by for her so it wouldn't have happened otherwise c) because she made the gorgeous photo set below for me (comment on it if nothing else!) and d) because I'm behind on something I owe her <3
> 
> Also gifting this to Amy for being so encouraging and an all-around lovely lady :)

 

 

* * *

 

**May 1930**

 

“Jon? Are you up there?” a familiar little voice called from below, waking him from his slumber.

He’d expected Hullen or Harwin to find him or maybe Robb. Arya might’ve found him even. He’d never expected her.

Jon had climbed into the loft above Winterfell’s stables to hide two hours earlier. It was warm and snug in the hay but also dreadfully boring. With nothing else to do, he’d fallen asleep despite his worries. If anyone had been by earlier seeking him, he was unaware of it.

He blinked the sleepiness from his eyes and sat up. His circumstances had not altered during his nap he was certain.

_It was not a nap. I’m far too old for naps._

Uncle Ned was coming home today from London and he was sure to be cross when he learned his nephew had been in yet another fight at school. Aunt Cat had already scolded him but then offered him a biscuit. He’d run away when she did that. He didn’t think he deserved one.

Before Uncle Ned had left, he’d spoken to Jon about controlling his temper and ignoring the taunts of those boys. Bastard was not an easy taunt to live with though even when it was the truth. And the things they’d said of his mother today…how was a young man of nearly eleven expected to ignore that?

He did not fear any beating or punishment Uncle Ned thought was necessary but rather Jon worried that he might send him away. He was quite old enough to be sent away for school. He’d overhead Uncle Benjen offering to take him to Scotland for a time. He might not mind living with Uncle Benjen but he would prefer to stay at home with his cousins. Jon felt like crying when he imagined leaving Winterfell. He was far too old to cry.

The ladder began to shake. She was climbing up. He’d never seen her climb anything before. Her red hair was visible first of course and she was huffing when she reached the top. He became ridiculously self-conscious of his appearance then, plucking at the bits of hay that clung to his shirt and breeches.

When she spied him and walked towards him, he looked sullenly away. She needn’t have bothered with the climb. He’d never ask her for comfort even if he’d needed any in the first place…which he certainly did not.

“Why didn’t you answer me?” Sansa asked imperiously as she stood before him. She was seven but had already mastered how to sound like a grand lady, just like her mother.

“I wanted to be alone.”

Ignoring his statement, she sat down beside him. “Did they really call you a bastard? Is that why you fought with those boys?”

“Your mother wouldn’t like you using that word. Where did you hear it?”

“I heard Robb telling mother about your fight. Mother was upset when you ran away. She’s set the entire household to looking for you.”

Guilt pierced him. Everyone was looking for him. He didn’t like to think he’d caused a kerfuffle and drawn the servants from their tasks. Shame pierced him as well. What would they think of him running away? That was not manly behaviour at all.

A wide grin spread across her face. Her blue eyes lit up with pride. “I found you first. Robb was sure you’d be in the attic. Arya said you’d go to the old tree in the woods. But I found you first.”

“You were merely lucky. The maids were cleaning in the attic today and it looked like rain earlier.”

It was not entirely a lie. But the stables were his preferred spot to hide when he feared he was in trouble or his feelings were hurt. Today, it was both.

“So, did they call you that word I’m not supposed to say?”

“They did.” _They called my mother names as well, names I wouldn’t want you to hear_. His eyes began to well up with tears. He was horrified. He couldn’t very well cry in front of Sansa, could he?

But she said nothing of his tears. “I’m sorry…that they said that, I mean.” She wrapped her smaller hand in his own. Her hands were always clean, he thought. They were softer than his. “It was rude and unkind of them and I shall hate them forever,” she said with a little sniff.

“Thank you, Sansa.” Perhaps her comfort was not entirely unwanted. “Are they…do you think they’ll send me away?” he asked, ashamed at the way his voice trembled but wishing for some reassurance.

“Why would they send you away?” Sansa replied as though it was the silliest thing she’d ever heard. “Boys fight, don’t they?”

“Yes…I suppose we do.”

“Girls do as well sometimes. But not as much as boys.”

“No, I wouldn’t think so. But it’s my third fight this spring and Uncle Benjen said I…”

“I’ll cry if they try to send you away. I’ll tell them to let you stay,” Sansa said as though that would solve everything. And perhaps it would. She let go of his hand and reached in the pocket of her dress. “Here. I thought you might want it.”

It was a biscuit, just like the one Aunt Cat had offered him after his scolding. It was a bit crumbled and warm from being in her pocket but he was hungry and she’d thought to offer it to him just as her mother had done. She could be thoughtful that way.

“Is your father home yet?” he asked before cramming the biscuit in his mouth.

“He should be soon. Shall we go down and greet him with everyone on the steps?”

Whenever Lord Stark returned from being away, the entire household would often be waiting for his arrival on the front steps of the house.

Jon scowled. It would be embarrassing to walk up after everyone had been looking for him all this time. But then, if he was not there when Uncle Ned returned, that would certainly be noticed.

As he sat puzzling, Sansa took his hand again. “I’ll walk up with you. We can pretend we’ve been together playing somewhere out of sight.”

No one would believe that. Him and Robb never played with Sansa anymore. He felt another ripple of guilt at the thought.

“Alright,” he said.

They climbed down from the loft and Sansa reached for his hand. His was sweaty now with nervousness but she didn’t seem to mind. They held hands all the way up towards the house because he thought it would please Sansa. He would not admit he was the one clasping hers tightly as the house loomed ahead.

Everyone was already there on the front steps, nearly two dozen people watched them approach. Robb looked his way and Jon quickly dropped Sansa’s hand, not sure what Robb would think of him holding Sansa’s hand like a little boy.

But he didn’t mean to be rude. He would not wish for Sansa to think him rude. “Thank you…for finding me,” he said out of the side of his mouth.

She smiled but said nothing and took her place between Robb and Arya just as the Rolls-Royce could be heard turning up the drive. His aunt said nothing either but cupped his cheek tenderly. He could hardly meet her eye as she ran her fingers through his hair, picking out bits of hay and dusting off his jacket, before placing him on the other side of Bran who was holding her hand.

He peeked down the line to see Sansa watching for her father and felt a queer tightening sensation in his belly that he could not define. He would not worry over that feeling today though he decided as the car pulled to a stop and Vayon Poole dashed down the steps to open the door. Lord Stark emerged and Jon stood up straighter, swallowing his nervousness, as he waited to greet his uncle, admit what he had done and accept his punishment.

It would be a few years before he was ready to face what that queer feeling in his belly might mean.

 

* * *

 

**June 1939**

 

This dinner party was to be her debut. Well, not truly. Everyone present had known her since she was born but tonight Mother had told her to wear her new gown, the blue one that made her feel so grown up and hugged her blossoming figure just like the actresses in the film magazines.

Mother had said she could dine with everyone and even stay after to socialize. She’d been allowed wine with her meal and not restricted to one glass. Arya and the boys had been forced to dine early with Nan but Sansa was nearly grown-up, wasn’t she?

There was music playing on the recorder and ordinarily dancing might’ve been expected after the meal but no one stood up to dance. Instead, the men sat talking of war and the ladies were just as bad.

Father had said he would take her to London in May to be presented at court but one thing after another had prevented him from doing so. He’d been so busy of late and Mother was worried about him and the threat that loomed. Sansa knew it was best not to say anything.

And no one was dancing tonight. Was this to be the way of things?

Sansa took turns about the room with a polite smile on her face, hoping someone would engage her in their talk, hoping that at least one man might compliment her on her dress or even might wish to forget the horrid topic of invasion for a little while and ask her to dance.

She passed through the library, sipping a third glass of wine as she became more morose. Her father was smoking in there with several other men. They all glanced at her when she entered. No other women were in here. None of them would compliment her on her dress or suggest dancing.

“Alright, love?” her father asked.

“Yes, Father,” she replied before making a hasty retreat.

Hitler, Germany, war…it was all they spoke of. For the first time ever Britain had enacted a peace-time draft with the Military Training Act. Robb and Jon had already said they’d rather volunteer than wait to be drafted. Everyone at Winterfell, from her parents to the stable hands, were focused on the news. She felt guilty for not caring enough to want to discuss it as much as everyone else but also found it horribly unfair that the most exciting time of her life was to be shuffled under the rug because of powers beyond her control.

Exiting the library, she knew she could stand no more. She quietly begged her mother for permission to retire. No one else would notice her absence and her head was aching from the wine now. Mother took her hand and told her to get some sleep, understanding her disappointments better than anyone else would.

Sansa held her smile all the way to the stairs before letting it crumble and allowing her eyes to cloud up. This was supposed to have been like something in a song. She was sixteen and this was supposed to be the start of everything she had looked forward to for so long. But apparently, it was to be over before it even began.

 _No one said anything about my dress or asked me to dance_ , she thought, allowing a pitiful sob to escape as she climbed the grand staircase. She should’ve waited till she reached her room to allow any tears to fall.

“Sansa,” he called from the foot of the stairs.

She stopped but did not turn. Trying to outrun him would be useless. She could hear him coming up behind her, likely taking the stairs two at a time like he’d done since he was a boy even in his evening attire. She dashed away the tears on her cheeks but she knew he would see them. She wished he would go on along. He would only call her a silly, selfish girl for crying over dances that were never to be when men would be dying in war before long. He might be one of them and that made the tears fall faster.

“What is it, Jon?” she replied with her back still to him. She’d meant to sound haughty and annoyed, thinking that might send him on his way. She was horrified by the way her voice croaked.

She felt the heat of his gloved hand above her elbow as he turned her towards him. She sighed and looked at the ceiling, not wishing to meet his eyes.

“Did Hardyng say something offensive to you?” he snarled.

“Harry? No,” she answered, shocked by the ferocity of his tone.

He had not asked her to dance and that was offensive enough but it would be embarrassing to admit it. She wasn’t even sure she liked Harry all that much but he’d seemed to like her…at least he’d seemed to before tonight.

Jon’s grey eyes were darker than usual, his normally unruly curls were slicked back for dinner. His nostrils were flared. He was angry. And apparently, he was angry at the thought of Harry offending her.

“I promise he did nothing to offend me,” she added.

The tension in his shoulders eased and his expression softened. Jon dug into his pocket and retrieved a handkerchief, silently offering it to her. Why was he being so kind?

That was not really fair though. Jon was kind. As boys, he and Robb had teased her on occasion. Sometimes when they were younger, Sansa would be hurt at how Jon always took Arya’s side when the sisters fought. But, that was when they were all still children. They were never as close as he was with her siblings. He seemed to keep himself at a distance from her of late but he had never been unkind to her.

“You came out of the library and he was following you. You looked sad and went to your mother. I just…I’m sorry. I should not have assumed.”

“He never even spoke to me tonight except when he arrived.”

“Oh.” Jon’s cheeks turned pink and he scrubbed at the back of his neck. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other on the stair. “Why are you crying then?”

“Because sometimes girls like to have a cry.  Don't boys?” He looked startled and Sansa had to stifle the urge to laugh. “You needn’t worry over it. I was just disappointed that…well, it’s stupid and doesn’t matter.”

“No one danced,” he murmured, a small smile on his lips.

She’d not expected him to know. “No, no one danced. I know you must think me…”

“Wouldyoucaretodancewithme?” he asked in a great rush.

“I beg your pardon,” she said, flushing. Surely, she’d misheard. Jon had always made his feelings about dancing very clear.

He drew a deep breath, like a man going before the firing squad, and repeated his question. “Would you care to dance with me?”

“I would…I’d love to, Jon.”

“I must warn you though, I’m rubbish at it.”

“I shall do my best to persevere,” she said drily, causing him to chuckle.

She could’ve blamed the wine for the fluttering in her chest that consumed her when he took he hand and escorted her back down the stairs. She might’ve said she merely felt conspicuous when he led her back to where the music was playing and that was the only reason her cheeks grew so warm. But when he pulled her into his arms and began to dance with her, she stopped worrying over such things and enjoyed her first real dance with a man.

Despite his supposed dislike of the activity, he was not remotely rubbish at it. His brow was furrowed as he concentrated on his steps but, once in a while, a small smile would light his face. He wasn’t all that bad-looking, she decided. Not that she had ever thought he was. She had just never before considered how her cousin was in fact quite the opposite of bad-looking.

“Your dress…it’s very pretty,” he murmured just then.

“Thank you, Jon.”

That fluttering in her chest spread to her tummy and increased ten-fold.

After that night, Sansa would have the strangest urge to giggle and blush whenever Jon came into the room but she wouldn’t have too long to develop her burgeoning fancy for her cousin. Robb and Jon left Winterfell to enlist in the British Army in July.  Two months later, Germany would invade Poland and Great Britain would declare war. It would be years before Sansa saw either of them again.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter will cover the war years but will only focus on one day for each of them although Jon's POV in particular will include memories of other days. They are apart in this chapter and I'm sorry for that as I know I prefer reading when they're together but they will be thinking of each other some and, after this chapter, they'll be together for the rest of the story.

 

**March 1941**

 

Sansa had been at her desk since dawn transcribing messages from the telegraph. She had gone from a novice to an expert in a few short weeks. Hours and hours at a task would do that, she supposed. Her fingers and back ached and her eyes would be bloodshot by nightfall but she would never complain.

She had turned eighteen two months earlier and finally convinced her parents to allow her to join the Wrens and assist in the war effort. Her mother had fought her bitterly over it. Though Sansa had understood Catelyn Stark’s reasons for not wishing to see her daughter leave the relative safety of Winterfell for London which was still under constant threat from the Luftwaffe, it had pained her to be at odds with her beloved mother.

 _But where is safety these days?_ she thought when the messages started pouring in about Clydebank.

Uncle Benjen was there, overseeing the shipyard. Was he alright? She wished she had some way to find out.

 _Father might know_.

Lord Stark was in London much of the time, always busy but never too busy to make time for his daughter. And while he worried as much as his wife did, Sansa knew her father was proud of her for wanting to serve in whatever way she could. It did chaff to know her father had seen to it she was assigned a desk job in London instead of aiding the Royal Navy in other ways but she supposed she might not have cared for serving on transports anyway. At least, she was fulfilling a needed role.

“Up for drinks later?” Margaery Tyrell asked, peering over the half wall that separated their desks.

“I don’t know, Margaery.”

“Oh, come on, Sansa! Hours of this drudgery only to return to our flat for indifferent sleep as you wonder if the air raid sirens will be going off. Come and have a bit of fun with me and the other girls. There’ll be a lad there I know from home. Mark’s in the RAF. He’s good for a laugh. He said he’d bring some of his mates along.”

Sansa smirked and drummed her fingers on her desk. “I have work to do.”

“And I promise I’ll let you get back to it when you agree to come,” the brunette pouted.

“Alright, alright,” she laughed. “I’ll come.”

She’d not been able to reach her father so she left a message with his secretary to get in touch when he could.

She walked with the other girls towards the pub with a nervous sort of energy thrumming through her. She was still wearing her uniform which was terribly dowdy but she’d brushed her hair out and borrowed Margaery’s lipstick.

She’d never been to a pub before. Her nose wrinkled up at the stench of cigarettes and ale that greeted her. They were four girls and, while they weren’t the only females there, it seemed every man in the place looked their way when they entered.

Margaery exuded confidence as she walked purposely to a corner table where three men sat and called for drinks. Sansa followed her uncertainly, terribly uncomfortable at the way some of the men stared at them.

Like bees attracted by sweet flowers, several men were soon buzzing around them, officers mostly who were on furlough for a day or so. But Mark Mullendore, Margaery’s friend, and the other two sent most of them on their way with a few unfriendly looks.

“Smoke?” one of the men asked, holding out a packet of cigarettes towards her. He was a pilot like Margaery’s friend and bore that same confidence…or swagger she’d seen in all of them.

“I beg your pardon,” she said haughtily. They’d not even been introduced yet. He had a friendly smile and warm eyes but she found the gesture a bit boorish.

“Sorry. Would you care for a cigarette?” he asked, his cheeks slightly flushed now. It reminded Sansa of something…of someone though it wouldn’t do to think on that.

“I don’t…yeah, alright,” she said. She was eighteen now. She’d never smoked a cigarette in her life but then again, she’d never been to a pub before tonight either.

She accepted the cigarette and stuck it between her lips. He pulled out a lighter with a flourish and lit the end. It was like something out a movie and Sansa tried not to grin like a goose at him.

“I’m Dickon Tarly,” he said, offering his hand.

“I’m Sansa Stark,” she replied as she shook it. She promptly started coughing like mad and her eyes were watering. He chuckled and handed her a glass. She gulped it down and immediately regretted that decision. “That’s awful,” she grimaced, setting the ale back down.

“Too posh for ale, love?” Mark snickered.

“Of course, she is,” Margaery said lightly. “Lady Sansa only drinks wine when she drinks at all.”

“Margaery,” she hissed. They were all staring at her now. Here she preferred just being known as Miss Stark.

“Are you really a lady?” Dickon asked. “I mean, it was clear the moment you walked in you’re a lady but are you related to a lord or something?”

“My father is Lord Stark,” she answered, shooting daggers at Margaery. Not that her friend cared. She thought it was a laugh that Sansa kept it quiet. But then, Margaery seemed to think most things were a laugh.

“Lord Stark? Who works with the PM?” Sansa nodded. “Well, that’s…I think that’s bloody grand that you’re here serving when you could be tucked away safely on an estate. I assume there’s an estate,” he added with a rather endearing grin.

“There’s an estate,” she laughed. It felt good to laugh. She took another drink of Dickon’s ale and, though the taste was wretched, she could already feel a slight easing of the knot in her belly.

They shared another pint and then a dance. It was lovely to forget the war for a night. He was handsome and his arms felt nice around her.

But as they moved together, Sansa couldn’t help but remember another set of arms that had once held her.

_Oh, stop. Jon’s your cousin and off God only knows where right now. It’s not as if he was even aware of your silly crush. That’s all it was anyway, just a girlish fancy. You’re not a little girl anymore._

It had been a girlish crush and yet she sometimes wondered if it could’ve been more. She often worried over him and Robb as her kin but some nights she remembered Jon in his evening attire, chasing her up the stairs and offering her a handkerchief when she’d cried over no one asking her to dance. She recalled the scent of him, the low, rumbling timbre of his voice and the warmth of his arms around her after he had done the asking. She would ache and feel flushed in her bed. Her hand would slip down between her legs…and then she would be ashamed. This was not what ladies did. So, then she’d kneel on the hard tile floor by her bed, shivering from the cold air outside her bedding and from thwarted desire, and pray for her brother and her cousin’s safe return and turn impure thoughts aside, hoping God would forgive her.

As the night wore on, Dickon offered to walk her back to the flat she shared with Margaery and two other girls. It was courteous of him but inappropriate perhaps. She wouldn’t want him to have the wrong idea about her. However, the streets could be dangerous at night.

She went to the loo to see if Margaery was ready to go. They could all walk together, Sansa decided.

“Marg?” she called as she opened the door.

Her eyes widened at the sight that met her eyes. Margaery was seated on the edge of the sink with her skirt pushed up while Mark was between her legs with his pants half way down his hips.

“Ahh-Sansa!” Margaery yelped when she spotted her, giving Mark a shove.

“Fucking hell!” Mark cursed. “I beg your pardon, milady, but piss off,” he said next, giving her a fleeting glance before he grabbed Margaery’s thighs and started pounding into her again.

Sansa’s face was on fire as she fled the tiny room. She had the strangest urge to cry and had never felt like such a little girl. What Margaery chose to do was her business. It wasn’t as if she didn’t know some girls did those things outside the bonds of marriage but she’d never expected to see it with her own eyes.

“Are you alright, Sansa?” Dickon asked.

“I’m, uh…”

Dickon rolled his eyes. “They at it in there?”

“Please don’t speak of it,” Sansa shuddered.

“Yeah…let’s just forget about them. I swear I’ll see you safely home and try no funny business, alright? May I walk you home, Lady Sansa?”

Sansa grinned despite herself and said, “Only if you’ll just call me Sansa.”

She let him do most of the talking on their way. He liked talking about music and his family. His brother Sam wasn’t able to serve but held a reserved occupation as a journalist. Dickon obviously thought the world of him.

“My older brother Robb is in the army…and so is Jon,” Sansa said. Dickon raised an eyebrow in query. “Jon’s my cousin. He grew up with us.”

“Oh,” he chuckled. “I thought perhaps he was your fellow.”

Sansa hoped her smile did not look as forced as it felt when she replied, “No…not that.”

Dickon’s eyes lit up when he talked about flying but a darkness crept into them when he talked about mates he’d lost on missions. She could scarcely imagine…and yet she could. No one could feel too at ease though they did a splendid job of pretending otherwise.

When they reached her building, she wished him well when he said he’d be returning to duty the next day.

“I’ll pray for your safe return,” she said politely.

“Will you?” he asked. He appeared rather touched.

“Of course.” Why wouldn’t she? She’d even pray for Mark Mullendore’s for Margaery’s sake.

“When I get leave again…if you’re still here in London…could I take you out dancing?”

“I…” She hesitated for a moment. What was holding her back? He was handsome and kind. They were young and unattached. It was only dancing. “I’d like that,” she said at last before bidding him goodnight.

Margaery returned not long after and apologized for what she’d seen earlier. “I’m sorry, Sansa. I can only imagine what you must think of me.”

“I was shocked but…Margaery, I wouldn’t condemn you for it.”

“He’s just…they put on this brave face but their missions are so dangerous. It’s a way for him to forget for a bit, you know? I guess I could say the same for myself.”

“Yes. I think I understand.”

The next morning when Sansa arrived at work, her father’s government vehicle was sitting outside. He stepped out of it when she walked up to the window and pulled her into an embrace. Her Uncle Benjen had been killed in the bombing raid on Clydebank.

 

* * *

 

 

**June 6, 1944**

 

Jon had left France several months ago and now he was returning. The fresh salt air was refreshing after the miserably cramped quarters of the transport earlier but his hands began to shake as the landing craft left the relative safety of the cruisers. The sound of heavy artillery filled the air and he would give anything to be sitting quietly by the old tree in the woods of the estate this morning.

As they headed through the surf towards their landing site of Gold Beach, Jon closed his eyes and attempted to calm the shaking while hoping the men around him would not notice. He did not draw upon the happiest memories of his youth when he did this for that might make the fear of death worse. Instead, he remembered the smell of hay and her small hand passing him a biscuit, offering him comfort even though his heart had felt very heavy that day with a young boy’s worries.

So often, when Jon consciously thought of home, he remembered things he’d learned at his uncle’s knee or his aunt’s loving attentiveness. He recalled playing his boyish games with Robb or thought of Arya making him laugh as she behaved like a hellion. He purposely did not think of Sansa so much except with general affection.

Why exactly was that?

Because that day she’d found him sulking in the stable loft and offered him her comfort and a biscuit had brought on a shift in his feelings towards her. She was no longer just his priggish cousin who played with dolls and cried easily, who cared about dresses and didn’t like getting dirty. She became her own entity to him that day, a person who was loving and sweet and sought to heal a person’s hurts without any thought of what benefit it might bring her.

And as she grew up and grew more beautiful, Jon came to realize he had never seen her in the same light as he saw Arya and that now he never would. But he had lived through many long days since he’d last seen her or any of them but Robb. He’d witnessed so much violence, things he hoped she would never see, since he’d spoken to her last and he felt the blood on his hands even when they were clean.

So, it became a habit not to dwell overmuch upon Sansa except in those moments when he needed comfort and his mind recalled her kindness.

He heard aircraft overhead and resisted the urge to cower. They were Allied forces. He thought of Robb who was in the 6th Airborne Division. He would have jumped out of his plane hours and hours ago, of all the crazy things to do…assuming his plane had survived the anti-aircraft defenses. Jon would’ve said a prayer for his cousin if he still prayed.

He focused on his memory again and breathed in and out. The shaking subsided. When he opened his eyes again, the beach was nearer but his nerves felt steadier.

As long as he lived, Jon knew he’d never forget the astounding sights he had already witnessed this morning of the massive combined Allied forces as they prepared to invade and hopefully liberate France from the grip of Nazi Germany. But while he would not dare breathe a word of it aloud, he was not terribly optimistic. He was not the naïve young man he’d been when he’d left Winterfell. Dunkirk had left an indelible mark on him, physically and mentally.

On the outset, the boy he had been had picked up a live grenade and lofted it back at the enemy to the astonishment and cheers of his mates. They’d been in awe of his bravery. He had enjoyed their praise but also been sensible of the fear that had prompted his actions. If he’d stood there staring at the damned thing like the rest of them, they’d have all been dead men.

The man he’d become had watched Pyp try the same thing a few weeks later…and be blown to bits in front of him. That was when the nightmares had begun.

And when the time to evacuate had come at last, Grenn had bet him a pound that he’d leave before him. Jon had taken the bet and Grenn had won. Jon had no money on him and told Grenn he’d pay him in Dover as Grenn left him standing on shore, waiting for his turn. HMS _Grenade_ had been sunk with his mate aboard. Jon hadn’t known until after when he’d already reached England. That was when his hands had started to shake of their own accord sometimes.

Jon said nothing to anyone of the nightmares or the shaking. There was nothing to say. He was a soldier and he was expected to carry on like everyone else around him. They were all carrying the same burdens as him.

Those burdens had only increased during the various campaigns he’d been assigned to when he’d been transferred to the SOE. The French and German lessons Aunt Cat had insisted he study as a boy had come in handy when he’d made contact with and relayed information to members of the French Resistance, spending time in Nazi-occupied Paris.

For over a year, he’d been in and out of the country, always behind enemy lines, living under a false name and in constant fear of discovery or betrayal. And during that year, he’d met Ygritte.

Petite and skinny, she was no great beauty but he liked her red hair and her crooked smile. Head strong and stubborn, they’d butted heads often in his early days among La Résistance. As he got to know her, he came to admire her strength and courage. Women played an important role in the Resistance and sometimes those roles were even more dangerous than the men’s. Her temperament and humor often reminded Jon of his cousin Arya.

But when he was unable to leave France for three months and was forced to live in close quarters with her, there was another side of Ygritte he came to know, a quieter soul who spoke of poetry and novels and sang songs when she’d had a glass or two of wine. It was then she reminded him of his other cousin, of Sansa singing to herself when she did not know he was listening. It was also the side of Ygritte that stirred his passion.

As a lord’s nephew, he’d enjoyed advantages and comforts that most never knew but he’d not forgotten the cruel taunts of his childhood. The army issued prophylactics to its soldiers but those were considered a guard against venereal disease more than for contraception. Jon had been reluctant to join the other men on leave when they’d gone looking for girls at first. He’d endured their jokes. It had not seemed worth wondering whether or not he’d fathered a bastard on some girl he might never see again.

But after Dunkirk, he’d lost his virginity in Dover after a heavy night of drinking. It didn’t keep the night terrors away any more than the alcohol but he’d found some comfort there.

“Shhh,” the woman had said, “that’s it now. You were good, love.”

He hadn’t believed her but he’d appreciated the words. He’d been quaking with nerves despite the alcohol. He’d barely found his rhythm and shuddered with his release as soon as she’d moaned the first time. She’d stroked his hair and told him sweet things as he’d laid his head upon her breasts and caught his breath. It had been something to help him forget the rest for a little while at least.

So, falling into bed with Ygritte after so many lonely and anxious nights had hardly been a difficult decision. Their couplings were more needful than loving but he did come to care for her deeply in time.

Her death had left him broken and consumed with guilt though he’d had no hand in it. He’d spent several days drinking his sorrow away; whether it was sorrow over the loss of Ygritte or sorrow over the loss of his own lost youth, he was not certain. Two weeks later, he’d received word that it was time to come home, report what he’d done and what he’d learned and prepare for reassignment.

“Lieutenant,” his sergeant said with a nudge as there was an explosion far off on shore, well above the beach.

The cruisers _Ajax_ and _Argonaut_ were bombarding the Longues-sur-Mer battery situated between Gold and Omaha.

“Let’s hope they clear the way for us,” Jon said.

A short while later, he stepped onto French soil once more and was greeted by the 75mm guns of the enemy and the shrieks of his countrymen. It would be the longest, bloodiest day of his life.

When the day ended at last, he did something he’d not done in ages. He prayed. He thanked God for his survival. And he prayed for his family; for Robb who he hoped was somewhere not so far away tonight, for Uncle Ned and Aunt Cat, for Arya working in Manchester and Bran and Rickon at home in Winterfell. And he prayed for Sansa who was still with the Wrens in London as far as he knew. He longed to see them all.

But, he would spend eleven long months fighting in France and Europe before he’d see any of them, save Robb, and before he’d set foot in England again. A very long year in which the nightmares and shaking grew worse.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's fiction but I'm trying to keep as much historical accuracy as possible without impeding the story. I'm too lazy for notes but if you have any questions about events, I'll try and answer them. 
> 
> Thanks very much for reading! 
> 
> I'll try and post chapter 3 soon (especially if you leave me a nice comment...lol.)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Sansa reunite in London while he is on leave after Germany has surrendered.

 

**June 1945**

 

Jon was trembling by the time they’d walked two blocks though he was doing his best to hide it. If Robb noticed it would be one thing, but the girls…he cringed to imagine their looks of pity. He hoped the sweat on his brow would be chalked up to the warm night instead of the panic that was percolating beneath the surface.

Most everyone they passed was merry but some were clearly inebriated already. He’d been jostled more than once and his nerves were stretched taunt. And the noises…it was loud on the street between the people and the motor cars. He wished for some peace and quiet. He should’ve gone to Winterfell but he’d thought the trip north too far for his leave. And he’d not been able to resist the opportunity to see her when Robb had invited him to join him in London.

“You should’ve been here last month!” Jeyne laughed as the four of them continued along Piccadilly towards the pub. “It was better than New Year’s Eve at Times Square!”

“I wouldn’t know,” Robb said, with a winning smile.

Jon wondered how his cousin managed those smiles, the way his whole face lit up. Jon didn’t think he was capable of smiling like that anymore.

He glanced towards his other cousin walking by his side, her hair shimmering under the streetlamps while teases of her delicate fragrance would hit him unawares from time to time.

She was nervously clasping and unclasping her hands together. Never before had he seen her do so but then his hands hadn’t shaken of their own accord before the war either. Sansa was smiling but it wasn’t the smile he remembered. He wondered if she felt as incapable of a genuine smile as he did.

Jeyne Westerling was a nurse from Pennsylvania who’d come over late last year and befriended Sansa, having met through some common acquaintance. She had chestnut curls and dark brown eyes, a pretty girl. She had clearly taken a liking to Robb. But then, he seemed to have taken a liking to her as well.

The two young women were sharing a flat though Sansa was already talking of going home as soon as she could. He was proud of her for serving so long. Before he knew better, he never would’ve pictured Sansa taking part in the war effort, let alone serving in the Women’s Royal Naval Service. But Sansa was as much a creature of duty at heart as he was…or had been.

Jon feared his own hopes of returning home before long were futile. Germany had surrendered but Japan had not. There were rumors of men being sent there soon to aid in the Pacific. He’d been fighting for so long now, nearly six years of war. He didn’t want to go fight somewhere else. He just wanted to go home.

But today, this Saturday evening in June, was his first full day of leave since returning from Germany. He’d have to report back in a week and see where he might go next. He felt his hands beginning to shake again at the thought. He clenched them into fists and bit his lip.

“It’s alright,” Sansa murmured beside him.

He was embarrassed to think she’d noticed his shaking but, when he looked at her, he realized she was speaking to herself.

And he reminded himself that she’d lived through the war as well. Perhaps she’d not been on the battlefield. Perhaps she’d not left England but she had witnessed things, too, no doubt. The war had left it’s own mark on her.

 

* * *

 

 

The pub had been Dickon’s favorite, the one where they’d met. Sansa had not meant to lead Jeyne, Robb and Jon here tonight. She’d not been here in two years, choosing to avoid it after his death. As they entered the place and her nostrils were greeted by that same stench of ale and cigarettes, she felt slightly ill. Why had she suggested this place for drinks? Was there some reason? A door that still needed to be closed in a sense?

Speaking of doors, she saw the door leading to the loo and remembered that first night when she’d walked in on Margaery Tyrell with Mark Mullendore. Mark had died during a mission less than six months later. Sansa wondered if Margaery had mourned him. She’d never said much about it. Margaery preferred not to dwell on the unpleasant. She’d been transferred elsewhere not long after his death.

But, Sansa had stayed on. And every time Dickon Tarly had leave, they’d meet. _I never would’ve met him but for Marg_. Was she grateful for that or not?

At first, it had been drinks and dancing. Soon, it was trips to the cinema. Dickon had kissed her for the first time during ‘Sullivan’s Travels.’ His kisses had been chaste and sweet that night. She’d been kissed a time or two by then but Dickon was the first man who’d kissed her for which she’d felt anything.

But the kisses did not remain chaste. Dickon was a man with a man’s appetites and Sansa had come to realize that women had appetites too even if ladies were not supposed to.

She’d had too much to drink the night they’d come here to this very pub and she’d let Dickon feel her up and put his hands wherever he pleased in the very same loo where she’d walked in on Margaery and Mark months and months earlier.

“S’alright?” he’d breathed heavily against her cheek as that ringing in her ears faded along with the white lights that had been twinkling like stars behind her eyelids.

“Yes,” she’d answered, little more than a whimper. It was more than alright. Floating and free and falling, it was a pleasure she’d chased before but she’d never experienced it half so fully.

“Can we get out of here?” he’d asked next, his voice low and urgent.

“Yes.”

Sansa blushed at the memory, ashamed to remember such things with Robb sitting next to her…and Jon.

Robb asked Jeyne to dance and Sansa found herself alone with Jon. Sansa turned towards him, shoving her memories away to make conversation with her cousin who she’d not seen in years. She started to ask him a question, just a polite conversation starter, but then she recalled how Jon had always been more content without forced conversations. They could sit in companionable silence for now.

She took the opportunity to study him discreetly as he drew a cigarette from his pocket. His hands were shaking slightly. That did not surprise her. Many men came home with the battle still playing in their minds. Dickon had once told her he could hear the hum of the engines for days after he came home. Jon had fought on the ground though. Father had said Jon had spent some time working through SOE as well. She wondered what things he heard long after they were over.

She studied his mouth. It was clamped together around the cig as he lit up. His lips though were soft and full. His face had a harder edge to it but he was still handsome, more so in fact. Or was that just that she had aged, too? Her girlish fancies had altered with womanhood and war. There was a faint scar along his brow and under his right eye. She wondered from where it had come. She wondered if she might find the nerve to ask.

“Did you want one?” he asked. He thought she’d been staring at the cigarette.

“No, thank you. I never developed a liking for them.”

One corner of his mouth turned upward, the closest she’d seen to a smile so far. “I wouldn’t think you’d care for them.”

Another spell of silence and Jon seemed to grow more relaxed as he smoked.

But, Sansa became uncomfortable with it, not because of Jon but because of the song playing.

_‘This lovely day will lengthen into evening_

_We'll sigh goodbye to all we ever had_

_Alone where we have walked together_

_I'll remember April and be glad’_

Desperate to block out the memories, she spoke heedlessly. “I wrote to you…after Uncle Benjen.” Any hint of a smile left his face and Sansa wished she’d bit her tongue.

“I received your letter. Your words were…a comfort to me,” he said uneasily. He rubbed his hands along his trousers and shook his head. “I’m sorry I never wrote back to you. I didn’t get your letter till after Dunkirk. I knew you were here in London. I should’ve written.”

“I wasn’t trying to make you feel guilty, Jon. I know writing letters was not a priority for you.” _Writing letters to me at least. I know I am not a priority._ “Mother and Arya would pass along word to me of how you were getting on.”

He grimaced and started to speak again when the doors of the pub banged open loudly and someone let out a boisterous laugh. Sansa jumped. She didn’t care for loud noises. She never had. But she did not miss the way Jon did as well; Jon, who had never minded Arya’s noisy antics…Jon, who had thought it was great fun to pull pranks with Robb and make her shriek as a girl.

His eyes met hers. “Sorry,” he said. Was it an apology for not writing or for jumping at loud noises? It didn’t matter.

“No need to be.”

She wanted to say more but he stood abruptly and said he’d fetch them fresh drinks. Sansa had barely touched hers. His was only half gone. She forgave him though. He needed a moment away. She understood.

She closed her eyes and listened to the tune winding down, the tune that had been playing the night Dickon had done those things to her in the ladies’ loo, the night they’d left here together and Sansa had ceased to worry over what ladies were supposed to do for a time. She’d not forgotten altogether but every time he had leave after that she’d cast aside her cares and opened her arms to him. Like Margaery had said, it helped him forget it all for a time and it helped her, too.

But when he’d not returned as expected, when she’d learned he would never be coming back, she had missed her monthlies as well. For two long weeks, grief, fear and shame were equally mixed. She wept with relief when her blood came again and wept all the harder for what might’ve been.

She had loved him and she’d believed him when he had said those words to her but it had been the war, the times and the circumstances which had driven them together. Could they have built the sort of life together that her mother and father had? She supposed it was possible but she would never know the answer now.

Drawn from her unhappy musings, she became aware that someone had approached their table, more than one someone. She couldn’t see them. They were behind her but she could hear them breathing. The smell of ale was strong.

“Weren’t you Mark’s piece?” a rough, unpolished voice asked.

Sansa’s hair stood on end. She’d not been here in two years. She hadn’t thought anyone from those days of coming in with Margaery and later Dickon would be here tonight but then again, old habits die hard. _And we’re not all dead_.

“Nah,” another man said. “She weren’t Mark’s. That was the brunette. She was Tarly’s girl. Shame about him. You lonely tonight, love?”

She turned towards them, a brittle smile plastered on her face as she stood and hoped to avoid any unpleasantness. She didn’t recognize them. That didn’t mean she’d never met them. They just weren’t all that memorable perhaps.

“I’m sorry. Have we met?” she asked politely as she took a step away from them. Jon would be back shortly. She could see her brother dancing not very far away. She didn’t believe they would harm her, not here in the middle of the pub anyway.

“How ‘bout a dance?” one of them asked, not even answering her question.

“No, thank you.”

“Ah, now...don’t be like that, luv. We could show you a good time tonight. We’ll buy you some dinner and take you to see a film even.” 

"I’m sorry but no. I’m here with…” she was saying as she took another step away.

One of them started to reach for her. She clasped and unclasped her hands in front of her nervously. When had that become such a habit? Men had appetites and some of them had a hard time hearing the word ‘no’ but Sansa had become adept at handling unwanted advances.

But there was no need this time.

One moment she was alone in her corner with the two men, the next Jon had shoved his way between herself and the man who’d reached for her. His eyes were glittering dangerously.

Low and feral, his voice was a rasp when he positioned himself in front of her and asked over his shoulder, “Have they offended you?”

 _‘Have they offended you?’_ Hadn’t he asked her something similar once before?

Everything about him reminded her of a spring, coiled and waiting. His shoulders, his arms, the way his hands were clenched into fists, his posture. His nostrils were flared and his eyes were narrowed. He would fight them both for her.

 _They’ve all done enough fighting_ , she thought.

“No, they have not,” she said softly, her hand gently taking his. “Dance with me,” she whispered in his ear.

Jon turned, his eyes already softening and the tension bleeding away. “Bugger off,” he growled out of the corner of his mouth to the two men. They were two and he was one but neither said a word. They blinked and turned away in search of more amenable companions.

Jon led her to where the other dancers were and took her in his arms. She was trembling. Or was that him? Or both of them?

But the unpleasant encounter faded from her mind as the music played. She laid her head against his shoulder. She felt his hand, warm and steady, against her back. Memories of other arms that had held her here receded. There was only Jon now.

_‘Never thought that you would be_

_standing here so close to me_

_There's so much I feel that I should say_

_but words can wait until some other day_

 

_Kiss me once, then kiss me twice_

_Then kiss me once again_

_It's been a long, long time…’_

 

* * *

 

 

“Did you know them?” he asked as he held her close on the dance floor and tried to ignore how right she felt in his arms, how soft her hair was where his fingertips were grazing it and how deliciously sweet she smelled.

“No, but they thought they knew me,” she answered evasively.

He didn’t mind the evasion. He’d heard those men calling her Tarly’s girl. Considering the way of things, it shouldn’t be strange that Sansa had been someone’s girl, some lucky git’s girl. Jon wondered if he was a soldier or a sailor. But those men, they’d been RAF. A pilot then. That seemed right. Some fly boy full of confidence who could say all the right things. Jon had always struggled to say the right thing when it came to girls.

 _‘Shame about him,’_ one man had said.

Jon didn’t have to wonder what they meant by that.

He had had to get away for a moment to compose himself but he’d not meant to leave her vulnerable to other men. And, there had been something he’d wanted to say before the noise had startled him.

“I lost your letter in France, the last one you sent…after Uncle Benjen. I carried it with me before then,” he murmured. She didn’t stiffen exactly but he could tell he had her full attention with his admittance even though her head was still resting on his shoulder. “I kept it close for a long time.” _So very close_.

It had been folded upon itself many times until it was as small as it could be, the edges of the paper growing soft like cloth and frayed. He had stopped reading it. He’d already memorized her words. Why had he carried it all that time? If the wrong person had found that letter on him in Paris, it would’ve meant his life.

Ygritte had found it in his things when he was staying with her. She was the only person who had seen it. He’d explained that Sansa was family. She didn’t say a word but he could tell she knew better. And when the letter had gone missing after that, he knew better than to ask. It was a risk to her as well.

“Thank you for telling me that,” Sansa said softly before he felt her relax in his arms again.

That night was the start, or rather the rebirth, of everything he’d been in denial about since he’d left Winterfell. Any notions he’d harbored of his feelings for Sansa being merely familial had died on the vine when she’d taken his hand and whispered in his ear to keep him from fighting. Those longings he’d been ashamed of as a younger man had not gone away with the war at all. They tripled the moment he held her in his arms again.

The fact that they were cousins was not a barrier. But the fact that he’d been raised since infancy in their household, that her mother and father were the only parents he’d ever known, the fact he viewed Robb and the boys as brothers and Arya as his sister, made him question what the family would think. He might never have seen Sansa as a sister. She might never have seen him as a brother. But to the family, they had been raised as if they were. And their family meant too much to Jon to just ignore that fact.

All through his leave, he saw her every day. Every day he saw her, he fell harder even though he also felt stronger and his hands shook less. He managed to earn a few precious smiles, not the forced ones from the first night but real smiles. He may even have found himself capable of smiling a time or two as well.

Robb was there with them but Robb was also preoccupied by his pretty American girl. If he was surprised by the amount of time Jon and Sansa spent together, danced together and even, on rare occasions, laughed together, he did not show it.

When his leave ended and he bid her good-bye with promises to each other that they’d start writing again, he prayed the war was nearly done and that he might see her again at Winterfell. The train ride back left him depressed and exhausted.

And when he reported to his CO the next day and awaited his orders, he found he could no longer hide the way his hands shook.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lyrics from-
> 
> 'I'll Remember April' by Patricia Johnston and Don Raye, music by Gene de Paul.
> 
> 'It's Been a Long, Long Time' by Jule Styne and Sammy Cahn. FYI-I'm probably being a bit anachornistic using this song as it was not a major hit until the end of WW2 after Japan surrendered. Oh well. I love it and wanted to use it here.


	4. Chapter 4

 

**September 1945**

 

The tension that was nearly always with Ned Stark in London slowly eased as they traveled north and drew closer to Winterfell. With Attlee’s election and the war ending, he hoped he’d be spending more time away from the city. He had enough responsibilities to contend with at home; his responsibilities to his wife, his children and the people who lived nearby being the most immediate. He hoped for a quiet sort of retirement from public life though he knew it would be a while before he could extricate himself completely from the goings-on of government.

He glanced over at his daughter sitting beside him in the back of the Rolls. She was peering out the window at the countryside but he could see her reflection in the glass. Her auburn hair was striking in the autumn sunlight, reminding him vividly of his beloved wife and the first time he’d brought his bride home years ago after another war had ended. His new bride’s expression had been a mixture of eagerness, anxiety and homesickness which was understandable all things considered.

His daughter however was returning to her home and looked more anxious than he would’ve expected. She kept fiddling with her hands as though she didn’t know what to do with them. He’d noticed it in London once or twice when he’d seen her there. He wondered what Cat would make of it.

She suddenly straightened and checked the parcels at her feet. After nosing about, she settled again and cast him a nervous smile.

“Sorry. Thought I’d forgotten Robb’s gift to Mother for a moment.”

He nodded. Silk had been rationed for years now but Ned doubted even a luxury like the stockings would cause his wife to forget her disappointment over their son’s elopement. Jeyne Westerling seemed a sweet girl though and Ned hoped they would be happy. Hasty marriages during and shortly after a war were something he’d seen before, something he’d done himself.

_No, it was not hasty._

Marrying Catelyn Tully, who had originally been his older brother’s intended, had not been something done in haste but with thoughtful deliberation. They had been little more than acquaintances on their wedding day but it had wound up being the best decision of his life. Where would he be without his darling Cat?

“How is Jon?” Sansa asked solemnly, turning her full attention to him.

“He’s home.” That was a bit obvious. She knew he was home. “Sorry, love. He’s…improving.” Ned wasn’t sure he should use the word better. He had not seen him yet.

“He didn’t answer my last letter,” Sansa said, chewing on her bottom lip.

“I’m sure he wanted to, love,” he said kindly, taking her hand.

 _“You may find him somewhat altered,”_ Catelyn had judiciously stated in her letter to him after Jon had been discharged and sent home last month.

Sansa still seemed fretful. He wished he could reassure her but he was concerned as well.

He loved his nephew like a son. He had since the day he’d first laid eyes on him not very long after his birth. He had promised Lya he would raise her boy as his own. His poor sister had been so young, misled by a married Frenchman and then left to bare his bastard alone and in disgrace. Ned wished she would have written to him sooner. She’d wanted to come home. _I wanted you home as well_.

Ned knew a thing or two about shell shock, or Battle Fatigue as they were calling it now. He had suffered nightmares after the previous war for a time. Cat had quietly asked Dr. Luwin for a recommendation for Jon and he’d suggested a psychiatrist who’d recently relocated to the area from Dublin. Dr. Seaworth was a veteran of the first World War, same as Ned. Thus far, Jon had been hesitant to see him according to Cat. His wife had been the only mother Jon had ever known but she was reluctant to push in this regard. He would have to speak to his nephew. Jon had always had a tendency to withdraw when he was troubled and Ned knew enough of young men and their pride to understand why. But if Jon needed help working through the memories, he wanted him to have it.

“We spent time together in June,” Sansa said quietly with a meaningful glance.

“Yes, I recall.”

Of his five children, Sansa had been the child who’d spent the least amount of time with Jon growing up. Even Rickon who was so much younger had tagged along after Robb and his cousin constantly from the time he’d learned to walk. But in a matter such as this, Ned thought her gentleness and her intuitive empathy might be more welcome than the laughter and teasing of his other children. And deep down, Jon and Sansa were more alike than others might realize. Her company would likely be a comfort to him.

_And what might Jon offer her?_

It was clear his daughter had suffered disappointments and heartaches of her own while away from home. She did not speak of it but Ned could tell. Perhaps they could help one another.

The car turned up the long drive of the estate and Ned’s keen, grey eyes turned to observe his family’s lands and home. It was still standing as it had for over a century but there were signs of neglect. Six long years of war. Nearly all the men who had lived here beforehand were gone away now, some of them forever.

Three maidservants, the housekeeper, Hodor and Nan stood out front with Catelyn and Rickon to greet them. He did not miss the pompousness of returning home with all the faces awaiting his arrival. He’d never cared all that much for being fussed over because of his title. He merely missed the faces. And one face in particular was missing from the group that waited today.

 

* * *

 

 

The woods were silent and peaceful. Sansa breathed in deep, relishing the autumn smells of decaying leaves, moss and wood smoke in the distance as she walked towards the heart of the thicket. The scents and birds chirping were far more pleasing than London with its smokestacks, unwashed masses and unrelenting noise.

The old tree at the center of the woods was supposedly hundreds of years old. The white bark and red leaves of it stood out among the common oaks and elms. When they were children, Uncle Benjen had told them the Druids might’ve worshiped it. Father had laughed and said it was not so old as that. Old Nan used to tell stories about it. She’d told one in particular that Sansa had loved of a woodnymph who had loved the tree and would dance beneath it before meeting her true love there on a midsummer’s eve. Nan always had the best stories to tell.

Something had told her she would find him here. He would not hide in the attic or the stables as he had as a boy but she thought the quiet of the woods and the old tree would draw him. She was correct.

He was sitting upon a large stone at its base when she saw him. His head, which had been bowed as he carved something from a piece of wood, rose at the sound of crunching leaves with her footsteps. He did not appear to mind her invasion of his solitude. He merely nodded to her and then smiled to himself as she sat down beside him. He proceeded to continue his carving.

He’d grown a beard since she’d last seen him in June. She’d never thought much about men with beards. So few men of her acquaintance wore them. But it suited Jon more than she would’ve imagined…if she’d thought much of it at all.

He was out of uniform. She’d become so accustomed to nearly every young man being in uniform. She had been glad enough to cast off hers. She supposed he might feel the same. She found his trousers and plain shirt disconcerting, as though he were partially undressed. She found it hard to look away from the bit of exposed chest she could see. Her cheeks colored at the course her mind took from there.

Sansa had not been surprised or hurt by his failure to turn up on the front steps though it was clear it had worried her parents. She understood his wish to hide away. She felt that pull at times as well.

When he laid his knife down at last, he handed her what he’d made, a small figurine of a wolf. Her fingers ghosted across the white wood, memorizing the little bumps and ridges in the carved wood.

Without preamble, he began to speak. “My mates and I...we gave each other nicknames during training. Grenn was Aurochs because he was built like an ox. He liked the name even though Pyp said it was because he was as dumb as one. Physically, he was one of the strongest men I’ve ever met. It suited him. Tollett was Dolorous Edd because he was so dour, even in his humor. Halder was called Statue because he moved so slow. He could never keep up on our runs. Matthar was just Matty but a good fellow. Pyp’s was Monkey for his jokes though Dumbo might’ve suited better if he’d lived.” Sansa gasped at the harsh moniker, causing Jon to chuckle. “It’s not meant to be so awful. His ears…if you’d ever met him...” Jon trailed off with a sad smile before pointing at the wolf in her hands. “They called me Wolf, said I was fast, lean and hungry like one. I liked it. Some called me the White Wolf when they wanted to take the piss. Sorry,” he added as if she’d never before heard uncouth words.

“Why’d they call you the White Wolf when they wanted to tease you?” she asked, grinning at his sweet mixture of courtesy and gruffness.

“I…when we were on leave back then…I didn’t go visiting like they did. White…like a, um…virgin.”

His cheeks were red. Even the tips of his ears were red. Sansa didn’t have to ask what he meant by visiting.

“Oh,” she simply said. She examined the figure in her hands. It was fine workmanship. “It’s very good. Have you spent much time doing this sort of thing?”

“Yes. We often had nothing but time,” he said quietly. “Time to sit and think about what had happened earlier, or last night or a year ago. Time to think about what would be happening in an hour, a day, a week. I preferred keeping my hands busy when I could. It helped some…with the shaking.” She nodded as he shifted, moving closer. Her bottom was already sore no longer than she’d sat here. She supposed his was even more so. “I’m sorry I didn’t come up to the house to greet you and Uncle Ned.” She started to protest that it was not necessary for him to apologize and he held up a hand. “I’m sorry I didn’t reply to your last letter. I’ve no good excuse. I’ve enjoyed writing to you and receiving your letters since June. They’ve been a…they’re the best part of my day whenever I receive any letter from you, Sansa. I didn’t reply to your last because I felt ashamed after the hospital…and my discharge.”

“You were honorably discharged.”

“Yes…so I was. But I know the real reason why. Your parents know. You know.”

It enraged her that a man who’d lived through so much violence could be made to feel ashamed for being troubled by it. Wasn’t it only human to be effected by such things? For her own part, Sansa preferred not to know a man who could witness the horrors of war and toss them aside with as little regard as a novel in which one had been unimpressed. It was true that Jon’s response was more severe than most men suffered but that did not make him any less of a man in her eyes.

“There is no reason for you to feel ashamed. You served our country for six years, Jon. You should not bear any shame for what those years cost you.”

She wanted to offer more than mere words. She didn’t want to make him uncomfortable either. But when she recalled the way he’d held her so naturally as they danced, she decided this was not something that required much forethought. Sometimes, it was best to act on instinct.

Laying her free hand on his knee, she put her head on his shoulder. He immediately reacted, putting an arm around her waist and pulling her in closer. He kissed the top of her head. She heard his ragged breath, in and out, as she was doing the same.

Her heart beat immediately picked up its pace and those familiar stirrings in her tummy from years ago and from June increased the longer they sat there. There was more than just comfort to be found here. _Much, much more_.

 

* * *

 

 

**October 1945**

 

It had been six weeks since she’d come home and he was grateful for every single day of that six weeks. He had started joining the family at table again. Smiles no longer felt quite so foreign on his face. He loved Rickon, his uncle and his aunt. He loved the people who lived here but none of them were the cause of this change. Did any of them understand what a Herculean effort it felt at times to get out of bed or to endure, let alone seek out, the company of others? Perhaps they did but none could doubt that Sansa was the reason why he spent far less time in his bedroom or alone in the woods now.

Every morning, provided the weather was not horrid, they would walk together sometime between breakfast and luncheon. And every day, the walks grew longer and they ranged farther…farther in their steps and deeper into topics they hadn’t shared with anyone else.

Sansa was a good listener. He was learning to be one. She kept some things to herself but so did he. However, on the whole, they opened their hearts to one another during those long walks. The nightmares had not abated and his hands still shook at times. He did not care for loud noises or crowds either. Those things might never leave him completely. But the serenity of Winterfell and the contentment he found with Sansa at his side had made his struggles more bearable.

He did not tell her all the ugliness of war. There were some things he couldn’t bear to burden her with and he could not find the words to describe them regardless. But some things, such as his time in France, he found a relief to share at last with someone who cared. Those long months of hiding in plain sight, of constantly living in fear of discovery had left deeper scars upon his psyche in some ways than the extreme violence of the battlefield.

Uncle Ned had convinced him to see Dr. Seaworth a time or two. If he were honest, he liked the Irishman. He was compassionate and, as a veteran, understood the issues that plagued him. But establishing a completely trusting doctor/patient relationship took time. With Sansa, Jon didn’t need to build trust. It was already there.

It became common for him to offer her his arm as they walked. He knew it was a gentlemanly thing to do but his motivation was less gentlemanly. He craved the contact. He enjoyed the feel of her body pressed against his as they walked. She might not realize how starved he was for touch, for gentleness but she appeared to understand his desire for the closeness. Neither of them spoke of it. Sansa simply gave him what he needed. He loved her for it. He also knew in his deepest, darkest heart that he hungered for her touch in other ways.

“When did he die?” he asked one morning in late October.

“March ’43.”

“Ruhr?”

“Yes.”

It was the most painful part of their talks, discussing the deaths of people for whom they had cared. It was clear Sansa had loved the man. He ignored his ignoble jealousy over the dead pilot who had been lucky enough to win her affections and offered her a handkerchief to wipe away her tears.

“I’m sorry,” she said when she had had her cry. “I can only imagine what you must think of me.”

“What would I think of you, darling?” he asked, sweeping a loose tendril of her hair behind her ear.

She blinked and he blanched at his use of that endearment. He had not meant to let it slip. He had not planned to speak it aloud…not yet.

“I fear you’ll think me a fast sort of girl,” she said, staring at her mud-covered boots.

It had rained this morning. It had not kept them from their walk. They had walked all the way to the far side of the estate as Sansa revealed her wartime love and loss and her shame over it.

“Why would I think you fast for falling in love? I told you of Ygritte. There were a few other girls but I only felt anything for her. I am in no position to say anything at all, nor would I.”

“But you’re a man. I’m supposed to be…”

“Human. You’re as human as I am.” He kissed her forehead softly, willing himself to not drown in her eyes as he said, “Grieve for Dickon but do not harbor any more guilt over having experienced love with him.”

Her chin trembled and he hoped she would not cry again. She did not. She took his hand, lacing her fingers through his and taking his breath away when she looked him in the eye. “I did grieve for him. I grieved but I am past it now. I do not know what might have happened if things had turned out differently but I have accepted that it was not to be. And while he is gone, I am not.”

He agreed with that sentiment. Neither of them would curl up and die over lovers who had perished in the war. Life would go on and they could learn to love again.

_I am already in love._

It was true. Those early feelings which had come upon him as a child but had never consciously been acknowledged until he was grown had faded some over the course of six years apart. The war had led them down different paths and into the arms of others but life had given them a second chance it would seem.

And since June, when he had seen her and held her in his arms again, Jon knew there was no other woman for him but Sansa. He only feared that she might never feel the same way.

They began walking side by side once more, her holding his arm.

“I haven’t told Mother about him. I haven’t told her what happened.”

“She would be understanding, I’m sure.” His aunt was a very good woman who loved them all unconditionally. If she was shocked by what Sansa told her, Jon knew she would quickly move past it to focus on her daughter’s happiness.

“I won’t be a virgin when I marry,” she murmured next. She looked at him shyly, like a girl who feared being told she was not pretty. She was gorgeous.

“You would not be singular in that, I believe,” he chuckled. She laughed softly beside him, tightening her grip on his arm. He loved it when she would hold onto him tighter. “Any man would be a great fool to lose you over that, Sansa.”

“Any man?” she asked, her eyebrows raised curiously and a teasing smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

His lips quirked into a smile as hope bloomed in his chest. It gave him the confidence to reply, “Any man.”

They made their way back towards the house in companionable silence.

He would never think less of her for having been with another man. He was disgusted by anyone who would make her feel unworthy or sordid for having found some love and comfort in those dark days.

But he was aware of the glaring double-standard young women faced in that regard. The classic refrain of what’s good for the goose came to mind.  The armed services issued prophylactics to its soldiers, sailors and airmen. Young men fighting a war were not expected to remain chaste when the opportunity for female company came along but society labeled young ladies as fast or worse if they slept with a man outside the bonds of marriage. Hadn’t his own mother suffered from a similar situation? Except Dickon Tarly hadn’t been married and probably had honorable intentions towards Sansa had the war not put an end to them.

He stole a glance at Sansa by his side. She was beautiful and kind. She was intelligent, witty and loving. She would make a wonderful wife and mother someday. Any man would be unbelievably fortunate to have a woman like her in his life. Whether or not she was a virgin on her wedding night should not matter in the slightest. He only wished she might be his bride someday so he could show her as much.

“Jon?” she said as they were nearly to the house.

“Hmm?”

“Earlier…you called me darling.”

He stopped walking and looked at her, drowning in those sparkling blue eyes this time. “I did.” There was no need to deny it. “Does that displease you?”

“No, I liked it.”

They were near the house. Anyone could see them but he didn’t care. They were facing one another and a new tension filled the air. Could she feel it? Could she possibly feel the same about him?

A hot surge of longing mixed with tenderness consumed him. He stared at her soft, pink lips. He didn’t think he’d ever wanted anything half so much as he wanted to kiss Sansa right now.

Her tongue darted out and wetted those sweet lips. Her eyes were wide. He would swear he could read her mind. She was wondering if he’d do it. He did not intend to leave her wondering.

But as he leaned forward, a shout from nearby broke the spell, causing them both to leap apart and making Jon’s hands tremble slightly.

“It’s about time! Mother’s been holding luncheon back for you both!” Rickon shouted.

Jon glared at his younger cousin with unbridled hatred momentarily before remembering himself.

Sansa was staring at her boots again and he hoped she was disappointed at the interruption instead of uncertain or ashamed over what might’ve happened. He’d like to ask but those answers would have to wait for now. He offered his arm once more and they walked in to join the others.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to those of you reading but those of you who are commenting are really just the best! Thank you for keeping me so inspired :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all your amazing comments :)

 

**November 1945**

 

“That may do it. Turn her over,” Jon said, wiping his hands off on a cloth and lowering the hood panel.

Sansa blew a strand of hair that had come loose from her bun out of her face and cranked the ignition. She half expected more sputtering but instead the engine rumbled to life. Hodor hooted happily from beside Jon, smacking him soundly on the back. Sometimes, Hodor did not realize his own strength. Sansa caught the way Jon tensed in response but he quickly relaxed again and smiled back at the gentle giant of a man.

“You did it!” she exclaimed when he opened the driver’s side door.

“Let’s give her a test drive,” he said, motioning for her to scoot over as he climbed in. “Perhaps I can earn my keep around here after all,” he said lightly.

A couple of months ago, he would’ve looked very downcast saying so. Today, she knew he was only joking. He was pleased with himself. _As he should be._ The old Triumph had sat idle since Arya had left for Manchester two years ago.

“Where will we go, my lady?” he asked with an uncharacteristically roguish grin as his hands gripped the steering wheel. He was so handsome…at least to her eyes. There were times her heart physically ached when she looked at him. In a moment of romantic whimsy, she nearly said Paris but quickly amended it to town and back. “Very well, darling. To town and back, it is. Hodor, we’ll be back in an hour.”

 _Darling_. How that ache grew keener when he called her that. Sometimes, Father would call Mother by that endearment. She felt the most delicious thrill anytime Jon did the same to her.

The weather had grown less hospitable for their walks of late. First, they’d had a cold snap and then the rain had been unrelenting. It had been sixteen days since they’d managed a walk that had lasted more than twenty minutes. Twenty minutes was not quite enough time to discuss more serious matters. Nor was it enough time for Jon to work up the nerve to kiss her, it would seem.

He had meant to kiss her that day before Rickon interrupted. Sansa was sure of it. She’d laid awake more than one night imagining it had really happened. She wanted that kiss to be real.

But she also knew Jon well enough to know he worried what her parents might think. She shared his concern. It didn’t matter to her that he was her cousin and, ordinarily, it would not have mattered to anyone else. But Mother had expressed her worries about Robb rushing into his marriage a few times and had seemed distracted in other ways lately. Sansa hadn’t wanted to add to her mother’s burdens by confessing she’d fallen in love with Jon any more than she’d wanted to share what had happened between herself and Dickon with anyone but him.

Today at least, they were away together, off on a brief adventure with no one to come and intrude upon their privacy. Perhaps drives could replace their walks on occasion now that winter was coming.

Sansa happily observed Jon driving along the one lane road, a contented smile upon his face. She suspected he was enjoying this getaway every bit as much as she was.

“If the weather is dreary again Saturday, would you care to see a film?” he asked.

“Yes, I’d love that.”

“We could take Rickon along with us if you like.” Sansa nodded and buried her childish disappointment. It would be rude not to invite her younger brother. “But of course it would be ladies’ choice. Anything you’d like to see?”

“‘Meet Me in St. Louis,’” she answered at once. Was it horrible of her to hope that Rickon would not care to see it?

He scoffed and playfully rolled his eyes. “A musical?”

Jon did not fool her. She knew he’d see whatever she chose. “A musical,” she grinned before she began to sing:

_“Meet me in St. Louis, Louis_

_Meet me at the fair_

_Don’t tell me the lights are shining_

_Any place but there…”_

He grasped her hand for just a moment, pulling it to his lips for a swift kiss, as he chuckled at her singing. He did such things more often, like calling her darling. He did not labour over it. He just acted. She was glad to know she could put him at ease that way.

“I believe you may have already seen it,” he teased.

“Perhaps,” she breathed, her heart thumping furiously now. Just the press of his lips to her hand…what would it be like to kiss him?

The rest of the ride to town was uneventful. As hoped, the marquee at the cinema was still advertising the Judy Garland hit from the previous year. The other film was a murder mystery which Rickon might’ve preferred. Sansa told herself that she and Jon would both enjoy something cheerful and bright over the other film. And it wasn’t as if Rickon didn’t have friends from school.

They drove through town and then turned back towards home. They had not delved into any serious discussions though she knew he’d met with Dr. Seaworth again yesterday before her father had left for London. She would allow him to bring it up if he wished.

A few days earlier, she’d asked him about the scar over his eye. His face had become dark and closed off. He’d only muttered the word ‘shrapnel’ before heading off to the woods in the rain. But when he’d returned nearly an hour later, he’d taken her hand and promised he would tell her one day when he felt strong enough. She understood.

So today, she kept the topics of conversation light. It was a great solace to have someone to share one’s troubles with but they did not always have to be speaking of the bad times. The war would always be with them but they were young. This was still the springtime of their lives and there were things to look forward to. She just knew there were. Jon needed to remember it, too.

However, there are many varieties of trouble in life and they soon encountered another, though a minor one. Fifteen minutes outside of town, they were sitting on the side of the road under darkening skies.

Jon scowled as he tapped the fuel gauge. “I should’ve thought of that.”

“The gauge says there’s half a tank,” she said, leaning into his shoulder to look.

“Yes, but I should’ve remembered this gauge is faulty.” He looked around. “We’re half way between town and home. I suppose I could walk you home first and then walk back to town for fuel.”

“You won’t be home till after nightfall if you do that.” The days were growing shorter. She hated to think of Jon out walking along the roads in the dark. And it was going to rain.

“Well, Uncle Ned took the Rolls back to the city and I hate to bother Jory for a ride.”

“Don’t be silly. We can walk to town together, fetch the fuel and then drive home.”

Jon started to protest so she climbed out of the car and started walking, forcing him to follow her. “Sansa, wait!” She kept walking, a smile blossoming on her face even as she attempted to suppress it. She should not enjoy making him chase her…but she did. “It’s going to rain! You’ll get all wet!”

“So will you,” she tossed back over her shoulder.

“You’re bloody stubborn,” he huffed as he caught up to her.

“So are you,” she replied, grasping his hand.

His grey eyes flashed with emotion as he squeezed her hand in response. Her heart began to pound once more and not because of the exercise.

“Aunt Cat will worry.”

“Mother would worry regardless. We’ll be back as soon as we can.”

Resigned against further arguments, he acquiesced and they kept walking.

They were nearly back to the motorcar with the petrol when the rain began, a cold drizzle. Jon shrugged off his coat and put it over her head. It would only help so much and now he’d be soaked through that much sooner but she would not protest. She smiled at the chivalrous gesture and subtly sniffed his coat, relishing the smell of the rain and his masculine scent mixed together.

“Shall we run for it?” he asked.

“Try and keep up!” she shouted as she raced ahead.

She could hear him chuckling as he quickly closed the distance between them. She shrieked delightedly as he grasped her hand once more and tugged her along. She had not felt so young and carefree in a long time. Being cold and wet was not remotely pleasant. Once she had the good sense to appreciate it, she’d likely be miserable. But, at the moment, she could not bring herself to care.

Once they reached the vehicle, Jon swiftly opened her door and urged her inside before he added the fuel. Her shoes were hurting her feet and she kicked them off. Her stockings were ruined. She knew she must look like a drowned rat.

He climbed in next to her, grinning like a boy and shedding water everywhere with his damp curls. She was still fussing with his coat as he started laughing. She began to laugh as well. She reached for him without a second thought.

She was aware of his eyes growing wide with surprise before hers fluttered closed. Like a tempest, passion swept away everything else the moment her lips met his. Just a sweet press of her lips to his seemed to melt away all his restraint. He groaned and slanted his head to kiss her more deeply as his hands went to her waist, pulling her body nearer. Sansa gasped at his eagerness and felt his tongue lick her bottom lip before entering her mouth. Her hands fisted through his sodden shirt. She lost herself in that kiss, never wanting it to end. She felt that kiss all the way down to her toes.

With one hand, she stroked his soft beard when they parted to draw breath. They would not be parted for long. _God willing, we will not be parted again_.

“I love you,” he murmured against her lips. He gave her a soft peck, his eyes dark and serious as he continued. “Sansa…I’ve been falling in love with you for quite a long while now.”

Had he? It seemed too good to be true and yet she did not doubt him.

“I love you, too.”

She thought perhaps she could say more. She could’ve told him how part of her had been his from their very first dance. She could’ve told him that though she had loved Dickon, he’d never made her heart soar this way, that she’d never felt his kisses all the way down to her toes. Jon would’ve known what she meant. He was part of her. They came from the same place and, though they had their differences, they understood each other deep down in their souls.

She said nothing else though. Instead, she let it go and savored the moment. There would be time for such admittances later on. For now, she was content to await more kisses.

He cradled her face, his eyes shining with adoration as though he meant to memorize her features. He made her feel treasured…and loved. Soon enough, he leaned back in. It would be Jon who initiated the kissing this time.

Hot and desperate, as though they would perish if they stopped, they kissed in between his sweet whispered words for God only knew how long.

His lips were swollen when they stopped at last. She was sure hers were as well. The windows were completely fogged up as they pulled apart, attempting to regain some control of themselves. He tenderly caressed her cheek.

“We should drive back.”

“Yes…Mother will worry.”

She didn’t want to leave but she knew it would have to end for now. But would going home would mean pretending nothing had happened?

“I’m not good at pretending,” he said as though he’d read her thoughts.

“We’ll figure it out.”

 

* * *

 

 

Catelyn smoothed down her skirt over her flat tummy. She had been eyeing herself in the mirror for nearly ten minutes.

 _Ten ridiculously wasted minutes_ , she chastised herself.

It would be another week until Ned returned and then he’d be leaving again not long after. He had many cares at present as the country tried to pick up its pieces and carry on. She would not say anything until she was certain. It was early. There was no need for false alarms. She could make an appointment with Dr. Luwin for December.

“Mother! They’re back!” Rickon called up the stair.

“Oh, thank God,” she murmured, hurrying down the stairs. They’d left for town over three hours ago the best she could determine with what help Hodor could give. It was already dark out.

“Mother was worried,” Rickon was telling them. It sounded more as if he was haranguing them. “You should’ve telephoned.”

“I’m sorry. I did not think of that,” she heard Jon reply.

She might not have thought of it either. The telephone had been out of order off and on during the war and Cat still preferred sending and receiving letters to speaking into the handset.

They were both soaking wet as they stood in the hallway. Jon had removed his boots. Sansa was holding her shoes. Her stockings were torn and her hair was a fright. Jon’s coat was over her shoulders.

“What happened?!” she exclaimed as she raced towards them. Had the Triumph broken down? Had they been in an accident? Or accosted and robbed on the road?

Such questions flew from her mind when they turned towards her. Their faces were lit up with mirth…and something else.

But when Jon’s eyes met hers, they immediately sought the floor as his brow furrowed. It reminded her of his expression when he’d stepped wrong as a boy and was afraid to tell her or Ned.

“I’m very sorry to worry you, Aunt Cat. We ran out of fuel. It was my fault. The fuel gauge is…”

“You didn’t know it was low on fuel, Jon,” Sansa chimed in. “It could’ve happened to anyone. We’re perfectly fine, Mother, but sorry to worry you. We had to walk back to town for fuel and then got caught in the rain.”

“Oh…well, that’s…I’m glad you’re both safe.”

She started to embrace them, Jon being the nearer, but he ducked his head and withdrew. “I’m wet through, Aunt. I’ll go and change.” He tore up the stairs, taking them two at a time as he’d done when he was younger…before the war.

Sansa kissed her cheek and Cat noticed how her daughter’s own cheeks were glowing. “I’ll change and help you and Nan with dinner, Mother.” She glided up the stairs after Jon, moving with the grace of a deer.

“They could’ve telephoned,” Rickon pronounced again as though he’d been terribly put out over their absence.

Cat smiled and ruffled her youngest’s hair. “Come along. They’ll be back down shortly. They’re likely famished after their adventure.”

Later at table, she sipped her wine and observed her daughter and nephew. They had indeed been famished and attacked Nan’s hearty stew and fresh bread with gusto. But as their appetites were sated, their eyes left their plates and, more often than not, were focused on each other. The looks they exchanged were shy but sweet. Jon was less subtle than Sansa. He smiled more than Cat had seen him do at table in a very long while. It made Cat extremely happy to see those smiles again.  And Sansa...her beloved daughter was far happier than she had been upon her return as well.  Whatever sorrows she'd been hiding from her parents, Cat suspected she had shared with Jon.

 _We shall see what happens_ , she told herself as a spark of hope blossomed.

She'd been hoping that all these walks, all the time closeted together was helping them.  Now, she suspected there was more to it than just mutual support.  They were clearly very good for each other. She wanted to see them both happy. She wanted them to enjoy their youth. She knew, given time, they could be as happy as her and Ned.

 _God willing_ , she amended in silent toast as she took another sip.

 

* * *

 

 

A long alleyway stretched before him and he ran. There seemed to be no end in sight. There were footsteps behind him, growing louder. His heart was thumping painfully and he felt like crumpling to the ground. He couldn’t though.

 _You’ll die if you stop_.

With horror, he realized the alley’s exit was blocked by a fence. Fifteen feet high with razor wire at the top. He could never scale it in time. He turned to face his pursuers. If he was going to die, he could die like a man, facing his killers.

“Need a light?” the voice beside him asked as the footsteps drew nearer.

Jon’s blood ran cold. He didn’t want to look. He could hear his laughter. _Always laughing, you fool_.

“I said, ‘Need a light?’” the voice asked again.

“Please, please, please…” he cried. “I don’t want to.”

He felt shaky and helpless. He turned towards the voice despite knowing what he’d see.

“GAH!” he shouted as he woke, his arms and legs tangled in his covers.

“Shh, it’s alright,” another voice said. “You’re safe.” He felt her cool hands touching his arms, his brow. She was not a dream. “It’s only a nightmare.”

“Sansa?”

“I’m here.”

He buried his face in her chest, trembling in her arms as he sobbed in relief. She stroked his hair and murmured words of comfort. He was whimpering like a boy. He hated showing her this weakness but he trusted that she would not think less of him for it.

What had brought her here to his room in the middle of the night? He didn’t know.

 _Yes, you do. She must’ve heard you. Any of them might have_.

“Goddammit,” he said as he pulled away from her and sat up. She was on her knees behind him on the bed. He glanced back at her in her night gown. Her face was flushed. Her hair was unbound. She looked uncertain. She was beautiful. “I…I’m sorry. I’m sorry for you to see me…”

“You don’t have to be sorry, Jon. Are you upset with me for coming?”

“No, darling,” he admitted, taking her hand. “I just wish…they’re worse after my visits with him. Is it really helping at all?”

Five times he’d seen Dr. Seaworth now. Why were the nightmares not any better?

She crawled over to him and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. She pressed a kiss to the back of his neck. He was sweaty. She didn’t appear to mind.

“It’s helping,” she said softly, her breath tickling his neck. “It will take time. He told you it would, remember? Come here.”

She laid down on his pillow and opened her arms to him. This was something new and unexpected. Never before had she come to his bed. He felt a stirring at the sight of Sansa lying in his bed. Blood pooled low in his groin with arousal but he closed his eyes and attempted to dismiss those feelings. Now was not the moment. He was still overwrought from his dream and his tears. Other appetites could wait.

He laid down beside her, allowing her to cradle him in her arms, reveling in her sweet kisses along his cheeks and brow. These were not the hungry kisses of passion and desire like the ones they had shared at the cinema during ‘State Fair’ last Saturday. They were chaste but loving, too.

When the frantic pounding in his chest had slowed, he savored the feel of her running her fingers through his hair and listened to her heart beating. She was brave and strong and loved him. He could share anything with her. He wanted to share everything with her.

“My scar…” Her fingers stilled for a moment at his words and he lightly tapped her arm, wanting her to continue her gentle caresses. She did. “I got this scar at Dunkirk. A grenade. My friend Pyp. Well, I had done it, too.” He gave his head a shake and tried again. “A live grenade came into our hole without exploding.” He heard her inhale sharply but she did not interrupt. “Pyp picked it up to toss it out again. He was always making jokes. ‘Need a light?’ he asked before he threw it.” He glanced up at her profile in the dark. He did not want to close his eyes right now.

“He didn’t throw it fast enough.”

“No. I was closest to him. The blast echoed in my head for days but what I saw will never leave me. I probably saw far bloodier things but that was the first time I’d seen something like that and it happened to my friend. The shrapnel left a gash but the field medic said it was nothing. He patched me up and sent me back to the very same hole within the hour.”

“That’s…I don’t even know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say a word, darling. You’re here and that’s all that matters to me now. I just wanted to tell you.”

“I’m glad you did.”

His chest expanded almost painfully with the love he bore for this woman. “Sansa, I want to marry you,” he whispered in the darkened room. “Christ,” he muttered. “That was no proper proposal. I meant…”

She laid a slim finger against his lips, quieting him. “We’ll marry.”

He kissed her heartily then, not a lustful kiss but one worthy of the moment. “I’ll speak with Uncle Ned when he returns,” he said with a ragged breath after the kiss.

She nodded and urged him to nestle down in her arms again.

He gulped down his trepidation over announcing his intentions to her father, the only father _he’d_ ever known. They were adults and this was 1945. It was not necessary to seek her parents’ approval but he wanted it all the same. So, speak to him he would. He had faced far more horrible things in life than his uncle’s occasionally stern looks. Besides…Sansa was worth any obstacle he had to overcome if it meant gaining her hand in marriage. He grew tired of hiding their feelings from the others. He wanted to kiss her in the open and not just in the darkened theater on Saturday afternoons or in the woods by the old tree. He was not a boy…and he wanted this woman to be his wife.

“I love you,” he said as he was nodding off again.

“I love you, my dearest Jon.”

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter goes along with some events from Second Honeymoon. If you've not read that story, that's fine but things happening with Ned and Cat have an impact on Jon's plans to speak with his uncle and also leads to a slight misunderstanding between Jon and Sansa which will be resolved soon enough.

 

**December 1945**

 

Sitting by her side on the piano bench, Jon watched her hands moving proficiently across the keys and felt that sense of peace her playing brought him.

He’d never thought a great deal about music as a boy. His aunt had offered to teach him piano when he was eight and his expression had been enough to make her weep with laughter before sending him on his way.

But sitting beside Sansa as she played, he almost envied her talent. Almost. But, he could not stroke her hair if he were the one playing the notes.

For the past three weeks, a new intimacy had sprung up between them. She came to his bed whenever the nightmares plagued him, which was still more nights than not, and held him until he was calm again. He could not begin to adequately express how much that meant to him.

However, what had started off fairly innocent and as comfort was changing. She had agreed to be his wife after all. So now, he would hold her to him after his terror subsided, grasping her hips while kissing her throat. Or he’d cup her breasts through her night gown as she moaned while his cock throbbed with want.

Just last night, they’d gone even further. She’d writhed against his thigh which he’d placed between her legs. He had encouraged her with hot and dirty whispers to find her release, savoring every gasp and cry she attempted to smother with her face buried in his neck. And when she’d shuddered and come, she’d touched him, prompting him to as well. He’d apologized as he reached for a handkerchief to wipe off her hand but she had not seemed bothered by it.  He hoped she was not.  Either way, it seemed unlikely it would be much longer before they gave in to their desires completely.

Uncle Ned had returned yesterday evening and Jon planned to speak with him today. Unfortunately, he’d been called away to the Cassels on estate business early so Aunt Cat had asked him to drive her to town for a doctor’s appointment. Sansa had suggested speaking with her mother might be a good first step. He was terribly nervous over the upcoming conversations though he knew that was probably unnecessary. But with so much of his happiness riding on his aunt and uncle’s opinion, he could not help but worry.

Sansa laid her head upon his shoulder as she continued playing. He gave her a kiss and told her he loved her. No matter how many times he told her how she gave him strength and courage to keep carrying on every day, he felt he could never say it enough.

“Do you not know that you do the same for me?” she’d asked the other night.

“Do I?”

“You do.”

He would not argue with her.  He smiled to think it was so and decided to be thankful for all they meant to one another.

When the melody was done, he said it was time for him to go.

“You’ll speak with Mother?”

“Yes, I think you’re right that we might have an ally there,” he grinned. “I’ll speak with your mother on the ride to town and I’ll speak with your father once he returns from Jory’s.”

She smiled and put her arms around his neck. They were alone in the drawing room…for the moment. “And will you visit Boots?” she whispered in his ear, her cheeks growing scarlet even as her mouth quirked into a saucy grin.

“Yes,” he answered, feeling his own face grow warm.

He’d not bothered bringing any home with him when he’d been discharged. He’d not needed them in a long time. But that would be changing. They had discussed it briefly the other day. He wanted to marry her but they could wait to start a family till they were wed and she was ready.

He found his aunt in the kitchen, sipping her tea.

“Are you ready, Aunt Cat?” he asked.

“Yes, dear,” she replied, pulling on her coat. “Does Sansa want to go into town? There’s no need for you to sit around waiting on me if the two of you want to see a film or…”

His aunt trailed off. No doubt his expression had caused her to. He could not help it. His jaw had dropped and, for a moment, he’d felt certain she knew exactly what Sansa and he had been doing in the darkened theater when they’d headed off to see films the past several Saturday afternoons. It reminded him of being caught with a stolen brandy flask behind the stables with Robb when he was fourteen…and the painful results.

But this was not that.

“No, she said she had some things to do at home today,” he finally said, scratching at his beard. “I, uh…wished to speak with you anyway on our way.”

After stumbling over his words for several, painful minutes, their talk had gone surprisingly well. He was still nervous but felt more confident. His hands had barely trembled once all day. He would speak with his uncle when he returned home this afternoon. And then, he would marry the woman he loved as soon as they could arrange it.

Once Aunt Cat had been called back to see Dr. Luwin, Jon had slipped out of the waiting room and down the street to the chemist. He made his purchase and stowed the small brown paper bag under the car’s seat before returning to wait.

He smiled when he saw his aunt emerge again…until he noticed how pale she was and that she was on the verge of tears.

 

* * *

 

 

**A few days later…**

 

Not long after breakfast, they stood on the front steps with Rickon and waved good-bye to her parents as they left for Dover on their second honeymoon. If anyone deserved this, it was them.

Recalling her mother’s tears from when she’d returned from her doctor’s appointment, Sansa was relieved to see her smiling so brightly now as they drove away. Her mother confessed she had not necessarily wanted another child but the idea had grown on her and, when Dr. Luwin had informed her she was not pregnant but entering menopause, she’d been understandably emotional at first.

They’d had a good talk though and her mother had allayed her initial fears quickly and begged her to reassure Jon as well. Given everything, she had suggested Jon wait to speak with her father upon their return.

“We’ll let them enjoy their week in Dover first, don’t you think?” she’d asked.

“As you wish, darling,” he'd said after a slight hesitancy.  

But now, it was only her, Jon and Rickon at the house with the reduced staff. After everything from earlier in the week, she’d not asked Jon if he’d made his purchase in town the other day and he’d made no mention of it to her. There had been little time for them to be alone together to discuss such things either.

Father had brought back word that there was a new litter of pups down at the Cassels which had led to much pleading by Rickon. Her parents had relented and said he might choose one. Jon had gone with him and wound up bringing home a pup of his own.

“It’s ridiculous of me perhaps,” he’d said sheepishly as the little white shepherd had wrested with his wilder, black-coated brother.

“No, it’s not,” she’d grinned, already in love. “He’s marvelous.”

He was. Quiet and attentive, Ghost followed Jon and herself everywhere he was allowed. And though it had only been a few days, Sansa had become convinced that this was a good thing for Jon when she saw how relaxed he was as he played with Ghost or scratched his head affectionately.

And though her mother had forbidden Shaggy sleeping in Rickon’s room, no one said anything about Ghost sleeping in Jon’s.

Sansa did not mind that but she did regret with her father home, she’d not been able to visit Jon’s bedroom at night. Lord Stark kept late hours and one night when she’d been heading towards Jon’s room her father had surprised her.

“Alright, love?” he’d called unexpected from his bedroom doorway.

“Yes, Father,” she’d gasped. “I just, uh…wanted a cup of milk to settle myself.” He’d come out into the hallway and kissed her on top of her head before she’d scurried away to fetch the milk she had not wanted. She’d dared not try again since then.

Fortunately, the bags that were often under Jon’s eyes after a bad night had been absent of late. She hoped that Ghost’s presence was helping. She was glad of it but she missed being held by him. She missed other things as well.

The three of them had nearly finished their luncheon when a parcel arrived. It was a replacement fuel gauge which Jon had ordered for the Triumph. He invited Rickon to assist him and her brother had devoured the rest of his food, eager to escape the house and do man’s work as he said.

“Would you care to join us?” Jon asked.

She wanted to naturally but knew her brother longed for Jon’s undivided attention and she’d just be in the way when it came to fuel gauges anyway.

“No, I’ll stay up here and help.”

The house was very large and far too much work for the housekeeper and maids to maintain. Mother had already closed off as many rooms as possible. Sansa wondered what might become of their home. Several large estates had not survived the economic depression after the first war while her parents had been busy rebuilding this one. Could the same fate await Winterfell? As far as she knew, they were financially secure but an estate took a great deal of money and labour to maintain. Might it be sold off ten or twenty years from now? And would her parents wish to continue living here when their children had all moved on? Would Robb and Jeyne wish to live here when he became Lord Stark someday?

She shook her head. She would find no answers to those questions today.

She slipped an apron over her plain, serviceable brown dress to help the maids change out the bedding.

That was how she found herself alone in Jon’s room when curiosity got the better of her. His scent lingered on the sheets she’d just removed. She held them to her breast and inhaled. It brought back memories of the last night she’d been in here; of his arms around her, those hungry kisses they’d shared, his hot breath in her ear as she’d rocked against his thigh until she’d cried out, burying her face in his neck as she’d touched him as well.

“Ah, fuck…Sansa. Fuck, yes.  Like that, my darling girl,” he’d groaned as he’d spilled in her hand.

She blushed to recall it but she was not ashamed either. She did wonder why men seemed inclined to speak thusly while in bed. And she wondered why it thrilled her so when Jon did.  But she did not give a fig if it was ladylike or not now.  She ached for him and desperately wanted more.

Without giving it much thought, she decided to rummage through the top drawer of his bureau, instinct guiding her. Amongst his socks, there was a brown paper bag and inside was the expected box.

 _Jon never was one to delay an essential task,_ she thought with a grin.

When he and Rickon returned to the house a little later successful in their efforts, she came upon him alone washing the grease from his hands at the kitchen sink.  She wrapped her arms around his waist from behind and laid her cheek against his shoulder. She felt the rumbling of his chuckle as he leaned his head back against hers.

“Alright, darling?”

“I am.”

He turned off the tap and reached for a towel to dry his hands before pivoting to face her. “What is it?” he asked curiously, his sharp grey eyes studying her features as he cupped cheek.

“Who’s to say it’s anything?” she replied coyly.

“Your eyes are sparkling more than normal,” he said, kissing her nose. “You’ve either discovered some great secret or you’ve just nicked the last lemon cake.”

She was delighted that he would remember her preferred treat from childhood. “There aren’t any lemon cakes at present.”

“A pity. There should always be lemon cakes for my girl,” he said, his voice growing husky while he stared at her lips.

“Perhaps I’ll find another sort of treat.”

She shivered at the devilish glint in his eye and leaned into him as he wrapped his arms around her. She wanted to tell him what she wished for tonight. She wanted to tell him how much she wanted him. Instead, she accepted his ardent kisses as greedily as a younger Sansa might’ve helped herself to the last lemon cake.

“Bloody hell!”

“Rickon!” Sansa exclaimed as she started to take a step away.

Her brother was standing less than five feet away, having walked in on them quietly. But Jon’s grip on her waist tightened, refusing to let go of her. Rickon’s mouth opened and closed a few times before he darted off.

Again, Jon did not release her when she attempted to chase after him. “Let me speak to him,” he said. “We’ll have a talk, man to man. I think it might be easier for him if it comes from me, alright?”

She nodded and let him go, regretting that they’d shocked her younger brother the very day her parents had left.

_Well, there are far worse surprises to endure._

To her relief, Jon and Rickon returned an hour later with the dogs at their heels, laughing over something. Rickon appeared to have taken the news in stride. She hoped the rest of the family would react the same as her mother and Rickon.

Before dinner, her brother came to find her. He knocked on her door and perched on her bed as she finished brushing out her hair. She wore it down in the evenings. Jon preferred it down.

“If you marry Jon, he’ll stay here with us?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Alright.” He hopped down of her bed again and headed to the door. “I think that’s good,” he added before he left.

She could only laugh to herself once he was gone. At least they had Rickon on their side.

They had discussed their plans and decided for the time being, provided her parents did not object, that they would remain at Winterfell. There were many things that needed seeing to and neither of them were afraid of hard work. They could be of use here. Jon had had a year at Cambridge but that had come to an end with the war. At present, he was not sure he wished to reenroll. He’d said it would feel strange to sit in a classroom again especially with Bran there and other fellows his age.

What the future might hold later, they would have to wait and see but Sansa knew she wanted children, as Jon did. And she knew she’d like for them to know their grandparents which would be easier if they lived here or remained nearby.

After dinner, they attempted to engage Rickon in a round of cards as the dogs laid at their feet. However, despite his claims that at fifteen he was far too old for _The Beano_ and _The Dandy_ , he declared cards spectacularly dull and slunk off to his room to peruse his old comics. It was just as well, Sansa supposed, and she said nothing when Shaggy awoke and followed him.

For two more hours, they sat in the drawing room with the radio playing as they played cards and attempted to make conversation. But their normal ease with one another was missing tonight. There was a palatable tension in the air that made Sansa restless. She wasn’t certain what to make of it. Surely, he was aware of it as well. They were alone in here for all intents and purposes and yet he’d made no move to draw closer or to kiss her. Why not?

She could come out and tell him what she wanted but could she be that bold? She had initiated their first kiss but when it came to sex she wasn’t as sure of herself. Dickon had always made the initial move in those matters. And while she did not believe Jon would reject her, the mere thought that he could made her stomach clench painfully. She kept her mouth closed.

When the mantle clock struck ten, Jon rose to ensure the doors were locked as they were the only two still stirring. Sansa stood and smoothed down her skirt and hair as she waited for him to escort her upstairs. She was fidgeting with her hands again and bid herself to be still. She gave Ghost a pat, finding a bit of comfort in the feel of his soft fur.

He returned, a nervous smile upon his face. “Shall we?” he asked, offering his arm.

She nodded and gratefully allowed him to lead her up the stairs with Ghost following them. The long hallway stretched before them and Sansa’s doubts continued to plague her. She wanted this but he had said nothing. Did he wish to wait till they were wed? Perhaps so. Did the fact she’d been with another man trouble him despite his words?

Rickon’s door was shut and she could tell his light was off. They drew closer to her door and she felt her throat becoming tight at the thoughts of him kissing her goodnight and turning away.

He was trembling slightly as they stopped outside her bedroom. Were the memories troubling him? Would he wish to be held tonight?

“Sansa,” he rasped then, turning to face her with eyes as black as night. “I will not take it amiss if you say no but I had hoped…that tonight we might…” His eyes burned into her, begging her to take his meaning.

“Yes…oh, yes,” she sighed with relief. She had not had to ask after all.

The next thing she knew he was kissing her with unbridled passion, making her forget all her earlier worries in the space of a heartbeat.

“Where?” he asked, tearing his lips from hers before he started working his way down her throat.

 _Where what?_ she wondered. She was dizzy with relief and desire all at once. _Oh,_ she thought as his hands gripped her hips and he pushed her against her bedroom door. _Anywhere at all._

“My bedroom,” she answered. No one would disturb them either place but she wanted him in her bed tonight.

“I’ll be right back.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll post the conclusion tomorrow. Thank you for reading :)


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't believe this has come up in the story before now but to avoid confusion, Jon is a Stark. His mother was unmarried and his father never claimed him.

 

His heart was drumming away as he led Ghost to his bedroom. He drew a deep breath to collect himself. It had taken him a bit to work up his nerve to ask.

_A bit? It took you bloody forever._

He subconsciously nodded to himself. His hands were thankfully steady despite his excitement as he threw open his bureau drawer and found what he was seeking.

She had not come to his room since the night Uncle Ned had returned and he did not feel right about going to hers unasked. And when she’d suggested he delay speaking with her father, he’d feared it might be a hint that she wished to slow things down after the last night she’d been in his bed when he’d not been able to hold back his filthy words or his body’s carnal response.

He wasn’t certain how Dickon had been with her and worried his actions the other night might have offended or displeased her in some manner. Sansa was very much a lady in his eyes no matter how many kisses they’d exchanged during Saturday matinees.

But tonight, with her parents away and during every agonizing second they’d sat playing cards as the tension kept mounting between them, he’d started to wonder if he had been reading things all wrong and if she was in fact waiting on him to make some sort of move.

 _Of course, she was_. He could’ve smacked himself.

He shrugged off his jacket and left Ghost lying at the foot of his bed before hurrying back to her door. He knocked softly and heard her moving within.

When she answered, he felt as if the air had left his lungs. She had removed her dress and stood before him in only her stockings and a white slip. He had never seen so much of her creamy ivory flesh before as her nightgown had always remained on when she’d come to his bed. Her auburn hair was covering her gently sloping shoulders and hanging past her breasts. His hands itched to touch her hair, her shoulders…all of her.

The single lamp she’d left on beside her bed cast a soft and welcoming glow and made her appear all the more ethereal to his eyes.

“Were you coming in or are you going to stand there all night?” she teased.

“I’m coming in,” he grinned as he stepped inside, closing the door behind him.

He tried to recall the last time he’d been inside her bedroom. He supposed he’d been no more than sixteen or so and had been looking for a book she had borrowed. But the light, buttery yellow wallpaper covered with violets and her pale green bedspread were the same. He spied her silver-handled brush sitting at her vanity and remembered her as a girl sitting at her mirror, singing to herself and brushing out her hair while he had slyly kept stealing glances at her as he ostensibly fetched his book, telling himself he could not possibly feel _that_ way about his cousin.

He turned towards her as she gave him a sweet but tenuous sort of smile. She was going to be his wife. _The sooner, the better_ , he decided as he took her in his arms.

Their kisses began as soft pecks and busses but soon grew more heated. He was all too aware of the warm flesh that he longed to touch just beneath her scant undergarments. She pulled his suspenders off his shoulders and he felt short of breath. He was going to make love to Sansa.

He carded his fingers through her silky hair as he rained kisses along her jaw and cheek before nibbling at her ear. She moaned his name and his resolve to take his time completely crumbled.

A feverish urgency took over when she started helping him unbutton his shirt in between kisses. In a fit of impatience, he tore his shirt the rest of the way off and laughed when she half-heartedly chided him for the scattered buttons.

Her lips were dark red and wet by the time he yanked his undershirt off. She grasped his hand and sucked deliberately on his thumb, her blue eyes a mixture of the angelic and the sinful. He groaned and grasped her arse, pulling her against his rapidly hardening cock.

“Fuck, darling.”

“That's the plan, isn't it?” she taunted before scrapping her fingernails along his bare chest and then tracing a path along his abdomen.

When she started unfastening his trousers, his hands moved from her hips to her breasts. She’d already removed her brassiere. There was nothing but the thin slip between her nipples and his thumbs as he swept across them, repaying her for the earlier torment as she gasped and arched her back, eager for more. They tightened into pebbles at once.

“Jon…” Her blue eyes resembled sapphires in the low lamplight. “I don’t think I can wait any longer.”

“Nor I.” He kicked off his shoes as she stood toying with one of the straps of her slip. “No…allow me.”

With only the slightest tremor, he slipped two fingers under each strap and tugged the slip up and over her head. She wore only her garter belt, knickers and stockings. Why was that every bit as alluring as if she’d been completely naked before him?

“You’re beautiful,” he breathed. “I knew you were beautiful but…Christ, you are beautiful, Sansa.” She laughed softly at his babbling. His hand was already extended towards one lovely pink-tipped breast when he stopped himself to ask, “May I touch you?”

“Please.”

He cradled one breast in his hand, relishing the weight of it before dipping his head downward to kiss her there. His tongue teased her nipple and he felt her fingers tugging at his hair. She was swaying where she stood and he had to grab her by the waist for fear she might tumble. He gave the other breast the same attention until she stopped him.

“Jon…I do believe I said I didn’t think I could wait any longer,” she said breathlessly whilst tugging at his hair now as her lips curved into a delightfully mischievous smile.

“So you did,” he snickered, immeasurably pleased to know she was as eager as he was. “I became distracted.”

He quickly removed his trousers and, in only his boxers, swept her up into his arms to carry her to the bed. His hands grasped her ankles and then slowly slid up her legs. But his hands were too rough for her nylons.

“Sorry,” he grimaced, looking at the run he’d caused.

“No, no…don’t be sorry. They’re dreadful anyway. I should’ve begged Robb to buy me some silk stockings when he purchased mother’s.”

“I’ll buy my wife silk stockings on our honeymoon,” he promised.

She blushed a lovely rosy shade as he gingerly removed her stockings. They soon shed the rest of their clothing and he took his time drinking in the sight of Sansa lying on her pale green bedspread with her auburn hair spread out like a fan around her. Her breasts, her smooth, white skin and the red hair covering her sex…he wanted to memorize every detail just as he had done with her lovely face. He wanted to remember this image until his dying day.

She grew flustered under his scrutiny. Her hands came together below her breasts. He had not meant to make her uncomfortable.

“I’m sorry. You’re absolutely stunning. I will never tire of looking at you.”

“That is good to hear,” she laughed. “But may we get under the covers? It is December.” She shivered slightly for emphasis.

“Of course, darling,” he said, helping her up and drawing back the covers.

Under the covers together, they took their time kissing and exploring one another despite their earlier impatience. They had all night. _We have the rest of our lives._ Long or short, he meant to live each day devoted to this woman. He had survived six years of hell just as she had. They could cherish this moment in peace.

_And I will cherish her._

Kissing his way down her body, she laughed and asked what he thought he was about when he kissed her naval.  She gasped when he went further. 

“Jon?”  He grinned to himself at her slightly scandalized tone.  His grinned widened when she cried out, “Jon!” a short time later.  

After kissing his way back up, he positioned himself above her at last.  He gave her a deep and loving kiss full of the promises he meant to keep before he eased his way inside her tight heat. 

“Alright?” he grunted, biting his lip to keep from losing all control.

“Yes. God…yes,” she moaned, rolling her hips as she wrapped her legs around him waist.

That was the best sort of response he could ever hope to hear.

He began to thrust, slow and steady, determined to make this last as long as possible. But watching Sansa’s lovely face glowing in her ecstasy was enough to make him realize it could not possibly last long enough for him.

Their bodies slick with sweat, he kissed her brow as they panted together afterwards. “I love you so very much.”

“And I you, Jon.”

“I’m afraid I can’t go back to sleeping alone.”

“Good thing you have Ghost,” she said drily. He scowled and pinched her lightly, causing her to start giggling like a girl. “Nor I…nor I! I surrender!” she shrieked as he tickled her. Once he relented, she said, “Considering what everyone’s been through, I don’t think a large, stuffy wedding would really be proper, do you?”

“Not at all,” he chuckled. He added up the required Sundays in his mind. “Parson Chayle can marry us early in the New Year if you like…if that’s enough time...”

She seemed to consider for a moment. “That’s plenty of time. Perhaps Mother will let me use some of the lace from her wedding gown. In the new year,” she said decidedly, “when Bran and Arya are home. I should like that.”

“What else would you like, my darling?” he asked, dropping kisses along her shoulder. “Lemon cakes?”

“Perhaps. But mostly I want our family there.”

“I do as well.”

“Father will give me away.”

“And your mother will cry.”

“Arya will ask if we’ve lost our minds.”

“She probably will,” he said, drawing her closer to kiss her again and again. “But, she’ll still be happy for us.”

“Yes…they all will.”

 

* * *

 

 

Sansa was wringing her hands together as the Rolls Royce came rumbling up the drive. _They will be happy for us_ , she kept repeating to herself. _They will be. I know it_.

“Have faith, my love,” Jon said quietly as he drew her hand into his.

The nerves did not abate completely but she was very grateful for his presence just now. He was her rock, her comfort and her heart and soul just as she was his. Though the war had separated them for a time, they had found each other again after their sufferings and losses and wound up discovering what had always been the case. They were like two puzzle pieces that fit together, complimenting each other’s strengths and weakness, lending each other their strength, bringing joy back into their hearts and giving succor whenever one of them was flailing.

Every night while her parents had been on their second honeymoon and after everyone else had retired, Jon had made love to her in her bed and then held her in his arms the whole night through. And, Sansa thought of it as a honeymoon of their own in a sense, a special time together in which nothing and no one came between them and the love they shared. She simply couldn’t imagine going back to sleeping in separate beds or sneaking down the hallway in the night.

 _And Ghost enjoys sleeping at the foot of my bed just as well_.

And she certainly could not begin to imagine what she’d do if her father did not give his blessing to them.

 _Run away to Scotland…or America, I suppose_. She was only half joking.

Once her parents had been greeted and Jon had disappeared with Father into his study, she’d shared her worries with her mother. Her mother’s comforting reassurances calmed her some more but what made her sigh with relief was when Jon and Father walked into the drawing room a few minutes later. Her father was smiling. It was a happy smile, a proud one but perhaps a touch bittersweet.

“My sweet girl,” he said cupping her face before he embraced her. “I cannot keep you a child forever nor would I truly wish to. I love you and I wish you both very happy.”

All of her worries melted away as her eyes filled with tears of joy.

 

Three weeks later, they were married at the parish church in the presence of their family. Jon wore a grey suit and Robb stood by his side. Sansa and her mother had taken some of the lace from Catelyn’s wedding gown and spiffed up Sansa’s old blue dress, the one she’d worn when she was sixteen and shared her first dance with a man…the man she was marrying.

Both the father of the bride and the bride herself were a bit of a mess as the maid of honor fussed with her bouquet. “I expect this from Sansa but not you, Father,” Arya said in horror as Ned Stark wiped his eyes. “You’ll make me cry too if you don’t lay off,” she sniffled at them both.

Sansa managed to recover enough to smile brightly as she was escorted down the aisle to her groom.

She’d grown up and was not the little girl she’d been the night she’d first danced with Jon but then he'd grown up as well. At heart though, they were still themselves, two young people who’d endured a great deal but looked forward to all the endless possibilities life held while mindful that they were blessed with this chance which others had been denied.

Their family cheered them as they left the church in the old Triumph and drove to Scotland for a couple of nights away. Neither could’ve been any happier.

 

* * *

 

 

**May 1955**

 

“Stand still now,” Sansa said with a smile as she finished tying his necktie. He put on his hat as she patted his medals one last time. “You’re terribly dashing in uniform, Captain Stark.”

“And terribly uncomfortable. Have you been taking these trousers in behind my back?” She laughed and shook her head. “Surely, you’re not suggesting I’ve gained a pound or two in the past ten years, Mrs. Stark?”

“I wouldn’t dare and you’re dashing all the same.”

He put his hands on her hips and gave her a cheeky grin. “And you’re radiant in blue…especially when you’re carrying my child.”

“I won’t be all that radiant come September,” she smirked.

“I beg to differ, darling,” he said, leaning forward for a kiss just as there was a knock at their bedroom door.

“Are you ready, Jon and Sansa?” her father called.

She gave Jon an appraising glance and waited for his nod. “We’re ready, Father.”

“It’s feels odd that I’m part of the event today instead of reporting on it,” Jon said as he escorted her down.

“Well, I believe _The Northern Mail_ can cover today even without their chief reporter and photographer. Mr. Mormont will manage this one time at least.”

Sansa was terribly proud of her husband. He had spent a lot of time helping her father with the estate over the years but had also managed to find a professional calling which appealed to him while allowing them to remain at Winterfell to raise their growing family. The interesting part was the unlikely way it had come about.

She could still recall her shock the day a few weeks after their wedding when Samwell Tarly had called unexpectedly to introduce himself. Not wishing to cause any trouble, he’d stammered that he’d been in town doing some research for an article he was writing when he’d happened upon their marriage announcement in an older copy of the town paper.

“I beg your pardon, Mrs. Stark, but I have been very desirous of making your acquaintance. I have no wish to stir any bad memories and I know this is terribly forward of me but I believe you may have met my brother Dickon in London when you served with the Wrens. I loved him very much and we wrote to each other often before...” He had trailed off sadly before remembering himself. “I thought…he had, um…mentioned you…in his letters. I probably should’ve wrote to you instead of just popping in like this but…” He’d cast a nervous glance at Jon. “I mean no disrespect to you at all, sir.”

“No…you’re quite alright, Mr. Tarly. My wife and I have no secrets from one another. I’m pleased to meet you,” Jon had said with an affable hand shake, putting herself and Sam at ease instantly.

From there, the three of them had forged a friendship and, though Sam and his wife Gilly lived further south, they’d stayed in touch over the years. It was Sam who had sparked Jon’s interest in journalism.

Jon still enjoyed working with his hands overall but reporting on news and current events for the local paper gave him another sort of task that brought him a sense of accomplishment. He’d developed a passion for photography which Sansa took an interest in as well under his tutelage. It was pleasing to share a hobby. They took an unreasonable amount of photographs of Ghost, the family and the old tree in the woods among other things. That is, they took several such photographs before their son Benjen was born nearly eight years ago and became their favorite subject.

For herself, Sansa was very content in her role as a wife and mother but did enjoy assisting her parents with estate business as they looked towards the future. Robb would be Lord Stark someday but he had decided on a career in the law and politics. Sansa was immeasurably pleased when she overheard her father saying with pride that it was herself and Jon who kept the family estate thriving.

They joined their children who were busy playing with their cousin under the watchful eye of Ghost, the children’s self-appointed protector. Despite how they annoyed the old boy at times with their antics, he never seemed to mind their exuberant ways.

Her parents were riding with Rickon and Robb and Jeyne would take their son with them. Ushering their own son and daughter into the backseat of their Morris Minor, they headed towards town. The children were chattering excitedly in the backseat but Sansa relished Jon’s contented smile and the way he would clasp her hand ever so often as he drove.

The town’s parade celebrating V-E Day was becoming a larger event with every passing year. Veterans of both wars were asked to march down the street in their uniforms as the onlookers cheered and a band would play patriotic tunes and old favorites. Jon had been hesitant to participate but had finally relented when Benjen had gone on and on about wishing to see him in it after learning about the event at school.

An hour later, Sansa stood on the sidewalk next to her mother and sister-in-law, craning her neck to scan the crowds. “Where are they?” she asked irritably. “They’re going to miss them!” She could already hear the crowd cheering as the mayor’s car turned down the street to start things up.

“Oh, you know your brother, my dear," her mother said. "He’s spoiling them with candies, no doubt.”

“Chocolates,” Jeyne said. “Little Neddie cannot get enough chocolates.”

“What sort of uncle would I be if I didn’t spoil my nephews and niece, eh? And, I could hear you from down the street, Sansa,” Rickon said, sliding in beside them. “They were hungry, weren’t you all?” he asked the three children whose faces were covered in candy floss and whose little hands were grasping taffies and coated in what had once been chocolate.

“Rickon!” Sansa fumed, pulling out a handkerchief to start wiping off one child as her mother saw to the other.

“What? It’s a day to celebrate. Oh, look!” he shouted, pointing.

He lifted Benjen onto his shoulders as Sansa picked up Lya.

The veterans of the Great War passed first and Sansa felt her mother grasping her elbow as her father marched by. “Father looks very fine in his uniform,” she teased her mother.

“He does,” her mother sighed like a girl.

The younger men of the Second World War were next and Sansa saw many familiar faces as she searched for her husband. The band was playing ‘It’s Been a Long, Long Time’ and she felt a lump rising in her throat. She was not about to cry like a ninny here.

The crowd’s shouts were merry as they waved little flags and cheered. She felt her face splitting into an enormous smile when she spotted him at last.

“There’s Daddy!” she cried to her children. “There’s Daddy and Uncle Robb!”

The children shrieked with delight as they waved madly to their father. Jon waved subtly back at them before flashing her a bemused grin that left her breathless. Two children, another on the way and over nine years of marriage…and he could still bring about those same flutters with no more than a look as easily as he had when she was sixteen.

“Isn’t Daddy handsome?” she asked her children.

Benjen rolled his eyes…as did Rickon…but Lya nodded solemnly.

He had barely gone past them when, without warning, there was a boisterous shout followed by a barrage of loud pops and bangs from behind her. Sansa yelped and tightened her grip on her daughter but scowled when she realized what the disturbance had been. A group of boys, just a few years older than Benjen, had shot off a handful of fireworks in a fit of high spirts.

Lya, who was only four, was startled and began to cry. But Sansa’s eyes were focused on her husband. He was not the only man in uniform to jump at the sounds. It was not just the soldiers who jumped either. And while most laughed it off, the boys who’d thought they were funny were soon surrounded by their elders and found themselves being thoroughly scolded.

 _They don’t know any better_ , she told herself as she shushed her daughter’s tears and had to stop herself from running to her husband in the street and making a spectacle of herself and him.

They didn’t. They were children and the war was just something the older folks spoke of. It was not something that they had truly lived through even though they might have been alive during parts of it. They didn’t know about the men who still had nightmares on occasion and sought comfort from their wives if they were blessed with one after their subconscious mind relived the most horrifying moments of their lives. They didn’t understand how fireworks or automobiles backfiring or low-flying airplanes could make a person break out in a cold sweat as they recalled past terrors of artillery shells exploding and bombs dropping from the sky, tearing lives apart in the blink of an eye.

_I hope they never know those things._

But Jon did not stop marching. He glanced her way for just a moment and, though his smile was slightly forced now, he kept going with Robb beside him. He would be just fine.

Sansa sighed and tended to her frightened child.

When they reunited afterwards, Jon ruffled his son’s hair and then took his daughter from his wife’s arms.

“Did you enjoy the parade, my dears?” he asked them.

Benjen stated with much enthusiasm that he had but Lya wrapped her arms around her father’s neck and laid her head on his shoulder. “I didn’t like the fireworks, Daddy.”

“I didn’t either, love. Shall we all go home?”

“Yes,” Sansa answered for the children. “Let’s go home.”

Jon pressed a kiss to her cheek and put one arm around her as he carried their daughter.

And Benjen proudly wore his father’s hat and marched ahead of them. “Look at me, Daddy! I can march like you! I could be a solider and fight like you did some day!”

They gave their son a smile, one tinged with a sadness the boy did not see, and said nothing, only sharing a meaningful look with one another.

 _We pray you never have to_ , _darling boy_.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to those of you who've been reading this one and especially thanks to those of you who take the time to leave a lovely comment!


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